North and South Retold
by Sophia Quills
Summary: North and South, but more of the love story with a fun and daring Margaret, a little less reserved Thornton, some new characters and new events.
1. Chapter 1

Margaret Hale had hated Milton the moment she saw it from the train carriage. Margaret and her father had moved to Milton from Helstone a week ago and had rented a two-story house in the city. The city loomed over the horizon like a dark cloud. All she could see was hundreds of chimneys spewing black smoke into an already dark and sooty sky.

Her impression did not change when she entered the city. It was grimy, crowded and grey. It looked as if all the colours had been drained out and the only ones left were shades of grey. The people of Milton were as foreboding as the city. Most of the people she saw on the street were workers. She saw very few people of her own class, except for Mr Andrew Webster who had met them on the railway platform to take them to the house and hand over the keys. He worked for Mr Thornton, their landlord and the owner of one of the largest cotton mills in Milton.

Mr Webster was brisk and efficient, as he saw to their luggage and informed them that their furniture had arrived safely and has been kept in the house. He told her about the cook – "a most excellent woman" – and the maid – "an efficient girl" – he had arranged for them. He left them at the front of their house and made his farewell with a "Welcome to Milton" to Mr Hale and "We are not as lovely as Helstone but I hope Milton will grow on you" to her.

Grow on her indeed. Within two days, she felt as if the walls of her new house were closing in upon her. In the mornings, she would wake up half-expecting to feel the sunlight on her face and then she would remember that she was in dull, dreary Milton. How her eyes and soul hungered for a spot of lush green or clear blue sky. Margaret busied herself setting up the new house. It saved her from thinking about Helstone and the life that she had left behind. When Margaret realised that the keys Mr Webster had given them did not include the keys to some of the rooms in the upper floors, she asked her father to speak with Mr Webster about it. Her father had returned that night and with an apologetic smile told her that he had forgotten all about it.

Mr Hale liked Milton as much as his daughter hated it. On the morning after their arrival, Mr Hale went to the school where he was going to join as a teacher. The idea of educating young minds and introducing them to the works of Homer, Shakespeare and Plato excited him considerably. He threw himself into his new job and devoted nearly all of his time to it. When at home, he would shut himself in his study and prepare elaborate lesson plan or correct their notebooks.

Her father's utter lack of interest in household matters meant that Margaret would have to get the keys herself. The cook's room was one of the rooms that could not be opened and she had been complaining non-stop about having to sleep on the kitchen floor. This morning the cook had issued an ultimatum: if she didn't get to sleep in her own bed tonight, she will resign from her post. There were other households in Milton that could afford to give an excellent cook such as herself the comfort of a warm bed after a long and hard day.

Margaret realised that the cook's threat was not an empty one. If she lost the cook within the first week of her living in Milton, no other cook will work for her. So Margaret tied her bonnet, put on her cloak and stepped out to meet Mr Webster at his office. She knew that it was not very proper for a young unmarried lady to go to a public office unchaperoned but she had to get the keys today if she wanted to keep her cook.

Mr Webster's office was on the ground floor of a newly erected building. She was told to wait while he finished conducting business with an important customer. Margaret had to wait for almost an hour. Finally, Mr Webster emerged from his office along with the customer. They shook hands and Mr Webster saw them to the door.

"I am sorry to have kept you waiting for so long Miss Hale. How can I be of assistance?" If he was surprised to see her in his office instead of her father, he hid it well.

"I came to ask about the keys to the rooms on the upper floors."

"I thought I handed over all the keys on the day of your arrival."

"Yes, the keys are all there but they don't fit some of the doors."

Mr Webster though about that for a moment and then remembered something: "Oh, I must have given you the old set of keys. I am terribly sorry. You see Mr. Thornton had the locks on some of the doors changed. The new set of keys must be with him."

"Can you please get me the new set then?"

"Mr Thornton is at the mill. I would go there myself but I need to go to the bank right away. I hope it is alright if I send the keys before night today?"

It would be too late to prepare the cook's bedroom by then. "No, I am afraid I need the keys as soon as possible. Shall I wait for you till you return from the bank? How long will you be gone?"

Mr Webster looked as her with surprise. Miss Hale was proving to be a rather unusual girl.

"It will take me at least an hour, maybe more than that," Mr Webster said.

"Can I go to the mill instead and collect the keys from Mr Thornton?" said Margaret.

This he did not expect. "Miss Hale, a mill is no place for a lady. I am not sure Mr Thornton will appreciate it."

"But I must have the keys. Would you be so kind as to give me directions to the mill?" Once Margaret's mind was made up, it was made up and Mr Webster realised that right away. He drew a map and explained the route the best he could and watched her as she walked off in the direction of the mill.

Margaret walked briskly, trying to avoid the curious stares of the people on the road. The mill was situated in the dark heart of the city. The roads leading to the mill were dirty and narrow. She had to go through the poorest parts of the city and was shocked to see the squalid conditions that people lived in. Margaret put her head down and trudged on. It was either this or the prospect of having no cook.

When she finally reached the mill, there was no one at the gate so Margaret walked inside the mill compound. When she reached the building, there was no one there as well and so Margaret went inside. She found herself in a large hall with a rather high ceiling and very little light. She wondered if there was anyone at all at the mill. She peered into the darkness, looking where to go next. From the far right side of the hall, she could hear people talking. She went towards the sound and sure enough there was a door. Margaret pushed open the door and found herself in a room full of cotton. There were bales and bales of cotton and fluffs of cotton were floating about. There were also workers, dozens of them, stuffing the cotton into sacks. At the far end of the room, there was an iron staircase leading to a small office. She looked around stunned by the beauty of the cotton wisps dancing in the air.

"STEPHENS!" somebody roared.

Margaret looked in the direction of the sound. A tall, well-dressed man was running down the stairs and towards the workers.

At the same time, one of the workers, with a cigarette dangling from his mouth, began running towards the door.

The tall man was fast and he caught the worker, presumable Stephens, and yanked him back by his collar into the room and proceeded to beat him.

All of this happened so suddenly that Margaret stood frozen in horror as the tall man rained vicious blows on the head of the poor worker. Suddenly, Margaret snapped back to reality.

"Stop. Stop. Don't hurt him." But the man did not hear her.

They were joined by other workers. One of the workers, a big burly fellow, threw himself between the tall man and Stephens.

"It's enough, Mr Thornton. I am sure he has learnt his lesson," he said.

"Not nearly enough" Thornton said, pushing away the worker who stood between him and Stephen.

"You will kill him," Margaret shouted. Thornton stopped mid-blow and turned his head towards her. It seemed he had not noticed her presence at all till now.

"Who the devil are you?" Thornton demanded.

All the workers turned to look at her. It seemed everybody had noticed her just now. Thornton was glaring at her, waiting for her to answer. She swallowed.

"I am Margaret Hale. I am the daughter of Mr Richard Hale. I came to see you about the new set of keys. Mr Webster said you were at the mill."

"Who allowed her inside?" Thornton looked around.

"Nobody. The door was open and I thought…" said Margaret.

"I am going to kill you. How dare you leave the door unguarded?" Thornton hauled Stephen to his feet and pinned him against the wall.

"Stop. Just stop. What kind of man are you? Don't you have any mercy?" Margaret couldn't believe Thornton would renew the assault.

"Look around. This is a cotton mill and he was smoking inside. He could have killed us all. You want me to have mercy on him?" said Thornton.

"But to beat him so… so viciously?" said Margaret.

Thornton stared at her and then: "Very well, then." He began dragged Stephens towards the main door.

"No, no! I have young children, sir. I won't do it again. I need this job," Stephen begged.

This was even worse. "How can you be so cruel? His children will starve!" Margaret cried as she followed Thornton.

"He should have thought about it when he put other's life at risk," Thornton turned around to address Margaret.

Behind her, the workers were still gathered, watching the scene unfold. "Go back to work," Thornton thundered at them. "And you, get out of here," he pushed Stephen out the door just as Mr Webster was about to enter the building. He caught Stephen before he fell on the ground.

"Sir, please I am sorry. I have little children to feed. I won't do it again, I swear it!" Stephen cried.

Webster took one look at Stephen and then at Thornton and correctly guessed what had happened. "You had it coming, Stephen. No use asking for another chance," Webster said and began steering the pleading man away.

"Miss Hale, I will have someone send the keys," and with that Thornton went back into the building and shut the door behind him.

Margaret stood staring at the door. She took a few moments to recover from the shock. She had never witnessed violence or such anger before. A mill was certainly no place for a lady. Slowly, she walked away from the building. Near the gate, she saw Mr Webster giving some money to Stephen and sending him off. She walked over to him.

"You arrived at a bad time, Miss Hale," Mr Webster offered apologetically.

"Yes." Then, Margaret remembered something: "You said it will take you a couple of hours at the bank."

"Yes, but right after you left I realised I needed Mr Thornton's signature on the bank papers. I am sorry I should have realised it earlier; you needn't have come here and witnessed this."

"It's all right. But I still don't have the keys."

"If you will wait here for a minute, I will get it for you." Mr Webster went back inside.

Margaret looked at the building. What sort of a man was Mr Thornton? What sort of man raised his hand at a weaker man? That too in front of a lady? Mr Thornton may own the biggest mill in Milton and have a lot of money but he was a terrible master. He was clearly no gentleman. No man of any breeding would act thus. He was also younger than she had expected him to be. For some reason, she had imagined Mr Thornton to be a middle-aged man but the man she met was quite young to be so successful. He must have started early. Her thoughts were interrupted by Mr Webster.

"Here are the keys. I got the bank papers signed as well," he said putting the papers in his pocket. "Please allow me to walk you home."

"But don't you have to go to the bank?"

"Yes, but it would not be very nice of me if I allowed you to walk back through that part of the city unescorted twice," Andrew said offering her his arm.

Margaret looked at the proffered arm. In Helstone, such familiarity would not be welcome, but this was Milton and it seemed the people here were not too formal about these matters. When in Rome, do as Romans do. "Alright then," Margaret smiled at Mr Webster as she took his arm, determined to shake off the unpleasant encounter with Mr Thornton.

Thornton frowned as he watched Miss Hale and Andrew walk together. He stepped away from the window and sat at his desk. He looked at his knuckles, which were somewhat sore. Most of the workers would never dare light a match inside the mill, but Stephens was an idiot. A dangerous idiot. God only knew what he did when Thornton was not at the mill. He should have thrown him out long ago.

When Thornton had caught Stephen with the cigarette, he had been so furious and so fearful that the damned fool might destroy his mill with a careless flick of his cigarette; before he knew it, he was tearing down the stairs determined to beat some sense into him. That is why he did not see her. Not that he would have spared Stephen because a woman happened to be standing nearby. But he wished she had not been there. She probably thought him a monster. She couldn't be expected to understand; yet all the same, he wished he had said something more to her to explain just how dangerous Stephen's actions were. Instead, he had shut the door in her face. He would have liked to forget Miss Hale and her outrage except, he had told her father that he would visit their house tomorrow evening.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing Margaret had done when she returned home with the keys was open the cook's room and help move the bed. The rest of the rooms can wait till tomorrow, she'd decided; she had been too tired after the eventful day.

Margaret and the maid began early the next day and started moving and arranging all the furniture and the things in their proper rooms. It had been hard work and both of them were exhausted. With no men to help them or see them, the girls had decided to hike up their skirts and roll up their sleeves.

The last room left was her father's study. There were boxes full of books that needed to be arranged on the shelves. Margaret stood on the stool putting the books in the top shelf while the maid, Katie, handed her the books.

"Katie, I need some help moving the deliveries inside," the cook shouted from the front hall. The local grocer had sent the week's supplies.

"Go on," Margaret said. Katie adjusted her skirt and ran out to help the cook.

Margaret enjoyed arranging the books. It felt like meeting old friends after a long time. She had read most of the books in her father's library. She would open each book, quickly flip through the pages to check if her father had forgotten any notes between the pages and then place it on the shelf. Occasionally, she would try to find a favourite passage in a book and read it.

Margaret did not realise that while she was thus engrossed, Mr Thornton was standing at the door of the study and watching her. Mr Hale had forgotten to tell Margaret that he had invited Thornton to tea that evening. He himself had been delayed at the local library and so when Mr Thornton arrived at the appointed hour, he found the door to the house wide open. He should have knocked but some strange instinct made him enter the house. Miss Hale had entered his mill without his permission, he told himself. What that had to do with this, he did not know except that it seemed fitting. The door to the immediate right of the hall was open as well; Thornton knew it was the study and he thought he might find Mr Hale there.

He had been vaguely aware that Margaret was beautiful. When he had seen her at the mill, she had been wearing a bonnet and it was dark; moreover, he had been too furious to notice anything. But now, even though her face was turned away from him, the realisation that Margaret Hale was breathtakingly beautiful hit him with full force. It was evident in her swan-like neck, her dark chestnut hair which had come undone from her bun, her slim figure and her delicate ankle. Propriety dictated that he leave the room quietly, go back to the hall, knock at the door, have a servant announce his arrival, giving her time to adjust her dress and step down from the stool. But he stood rooted to the spot, transfixed.

"Don't just stand there. Hand me the books," Margaret said putting away the book she had been reading.

Thornton knew she had sensed his presence at the door but probably mistaken him for a servant. Instead of turning around, he found himself walking inside the room, picking up a few books from one of the boxes and handing them to her.

"Not that box, Katie—" Margaret looked down expecting to see Katie and instead saw Mr Thornton with the books.

Her eyes widened. Green eyes fringed with long dark lashes, Thornton noted. Her mouth made a silent "Oh!" and she stared at him, unable to move.

"Miss Hale," Thornton said breaking the silence. She looked so adorably befuddled, he had to smile.

That brought her to her senses.

"Wha—"

Dear God, what was this man doing here, in her house, when she was standing on a stool with her skirt practically up to her knees. Just then, she heard someone at the door. Margaret jerked her head so suddenly that she lost her balance and would have fallen down if Mr Thornton had not quickly reached out, grabbed her by the waist and set her down.

"Maggie!" it was her father.

Margaret had just about enough time to arrange her skirt before her father entered the room.

"Oh! Mr Thornton, I hope I am not too late," Mr Hale said shaking Thornton's hand. "I see you have already met my daughter. Excellent, excellent," Mr Hale put down his books on the table and turned to face his daughter. "Oh Maggie, I am sorry, I forgot to tell you that I asked Mr Thornton to tea," Mr Hale shrugged helplessly.

"I will see to the tea," Margaret fled the room, her cheeks burning.

Margaret ran straight to her room. She had never been "handled" by a man before. Sure, men had placed their hands at her waist when she had danced with them but this was different. This was boldly intimate. She could still feel the warmth of his hands where he had touched her. Margaret looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was escaping the knot, her face was flushed and a good deal of her arms were exposed. For the first time, she was glad that her father was the sort of man who never noticed anything. Any other father would have roared in outrage if he had found his daughter in such a state alone with a man.

Margaret pinned her hair, wiped her face with a wet towel, arranged her dress and tried to get her heart to beat at a more normal pace. She was furious at Mr Thornton. Didn't people in Milton knock at doors? Do they simply barge into people's house? He probably thought he could enter their house as he was the landlord. He certainly lorded over his poor workers. But her outrage dissolved when she remembered how he had looked when he had smiled at her. There was a quiet amusement in his eyes; he had looked friendly. But then when he picked her up, well, there was nothing friendly about that. It was proprietorial; he didn't even take her permission. The nerve of that man. What was her father thinking inviting him to tea? The tea! Margaret had forgotten all about it.

She rushed down to the kitchen and ordered the tea service. For a brief moment, Margaret thought about sending Katie up alone with the tea. She didn't want to face Mr Thornton. But Margaret was not a coward and she didn't want Mr Thornton to think that she was a coward. So with a determined lift of her chin, she went into the study, closely followed by Katie who carried the tray.

Mr Thornton rose from his chair when Margaret entered the room. Margaret couldn't bring herself to look at him just now. She kept her eyes down and quickly went about pouring the tea.

"So what was I saying?" her father asked.

"The education of the workers," Thornton prompted.

"Ah, yes. I wish you would consider it Mr Thornton. Educated workers will be moral workers, responsible workers. As their master, I believe it is your duty to see after their moral and spiritual welfare."

Margaret dropped the spoon rather loudly on the saucer.

"Forgive me," she said with a quick glance at her father. She wondered what her father would have to say if he had seen Mr Thornton beat his workers.

Her action was not lost on Thornton who stiffened immediately.

"Don't you agree Maggie?" her father turned to her.

"Yes. Moral, spiritual _and_ physical welfare," Margaret looked Thornton in the eye.

"You think I mistreat my workers?"

"I saw you beat a defenceless, much smaller man. You cannot possibly defend your actions."

"Miss Hale, last year, a cotton mill in Milton caught fire because a worker smoked inside. 25 women and 3 children were killed in that fire. If I have to beat one man to save the life of my workers, I will not hesitate to do it again."

"You cannot prevent evil by doing more evil."

"Miss Hale, you talk as if I beat my workers on a daily basis. Yesterday was the first time I had to raise my hand on another person. It is extremely unfortunate that you had to witness it but you cannot allow that incident to colour your opinion of me."

It was on the tip of her tongue to remind him about his behaviour a few minutes ago. Thornton must have guessed her unspoken words and they both silently dared each other to address that.

"I think Mr Thornton has a point," Mr Hale finally said.

Both of them had forgotten that her father was still in the room.

"The tea, Maggie" her father reminded her.

Margaret handed her father his cup.

"But that does not mean I approve of your actions, Mr Thornton," her father continued. "As their master, you must show patience with your workers."

Margaret rose from her seat to give Mr Thornton his cup. Mr Thornton reached out his hand and as she passed the cup to him, his finger brushed against hers. Margaret looked at his hand and saw that Mr Thornton did not remove his finger immediately but simply took the cup from her hand.

It was an accident, Margaret told herself. If he had removed his hand, they might have dropped the cup, she reasoned. Then she wondered why she was making excuses on his behalf. Margaret decided it was best to leave the two men to their conversation. She had had enough of Mr Thornton for a day.

"If you will excuse me father," she got up.

"Miss Hale," Mr Thornton rose from his chair and put out his hand to shake hers. It was a familiar form of farewell in Milton.

But Margaret was still unused to the ways of Milton and was stunned that Mr Thornton wanted to shake her hand. The little spot on her finger where he had touched her was still tingling. There was no way she was going to place her hand in his.

"Mr Thornton," she bowed instead and left the room.

He certainly had that coming, Thornton thought, but the insult stung. He tried to keep his attention on what Mr Hale was saying. The room had grown dull the moment Margaret had left. What had he been thinking when he grabbed her from the stool. He hadn't been thinking at all, that's what. And then he had tried to prolong what had been an accidental touch. He wondered what else he could do to worsen her opinion of him. If her sudden exit from the room was any indication, this was probably the last that he was going to see of her. Thornton realised that he did not like the idea of not being able to see Miss Hale.

"Mr Hale, I was thinking if you would be kind enough to read Homer with me. I confess I never got around to finishing the Iliad and it would be nice to have someone help me with it."

"What a fortunate co-incidence! I have been planning to teach it at school, this would be an excellent preparation. I will be delighted."

As Thornton left the house, he couldn't help smiling. Mr Hale had invited Thornton to his house to read with him every evening. He had enjoyed reading the classics in school but that was such a long time ago. He wondered what his mother and sister will have to say about his renewed interest in Homer. His mother will certainly guess at the truth and he imagined she will not be very pleased. But, for now, all he needed to worry about was not offending Miss Hale when he saw her next. That and finding his old copy of the Iliad.


	3. Chapter 3

_I have no idea why I kept writing Wiltshire instead of Helstone. I can't describe how relieved I was when I googled Wiltshire, and it turned out to be in the South, South-West to be exact, but still it was not in the East or North of England. _

_Anyway, here's chapter 3. Enjoy! :)_

* * *

><p>Three days later, Mr Thornton was in a foul mood. For two days, he had gone to Mr Hale's house at the usual hour, had waited patiently for Margaret to appear with the tea, but she had not come down. The tea was instead served by the maid. Every time there was a movement in the hall, he held his breath but it was never her.<p>

"I trust Miss Hale is well," Thornton finally asked.

"Yes, I believe she has gone for a walk; she seems to prefer this hour."

"I see."

Her intentions could not be much plainer. She did not even want to be in the same house as him. He had made a complete fool of himself; if she didn't want to see him, he should remove himself from her way. She need not pretend to go on walks to avoid him. He wondered how to best put an end to his visits, without disappointing Mr Hale, who had been talking about reading Plato next. Mr Hale had been very generous with his time and he seemed very happy to have him as a friend.

"I am afraid I may not be able to come tomorrow," Thornton said as he shook Mr Hale's hand. "There is talk of strike and I will be needed at the mill." That much was true.

"Oh! I shall miss your company. But I hope you will come on Thursday," Mr Hale asked.

"I hope to be able to," Thornton said but without much confidence.

Thornton walked back home disappointed and angry with himself. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about Margaret. He had gone to her house every day, hoping to see her, hoping to engage her in a conversation and every day, he had returned empty. Their last conversation had left so much unresolved, he needed some sort of closure. He needed to see the scorn in her eyes replaced by understanding. But perhaps it was too much to hope for.

He knew that where the Hales came from being in trade was frowned upon and Margaret would not have cared to make his acquaintance had circumstances not thrown them together. But this is who he was and the mill was his life's work. The mill he had inherited from his father was but a mill in name. His father had run the business into the ground and had begun investing in dubious schemes hoping to raise enough money to pay the creditors and revive the mill. His father had finally given up all hope and put a gun to his head. Thornton had to leave the university and return to Milton. Together with his mother, he had worked hard and penny by penny paid off his father's debts. Running a business had come naturally to him and slowly but steadily, he had rebuilt the business and the mill that his father had all but destroyed. If only his father had told his mother about the true state of their finance, she might have been able to advise him. Thornton made sure that he did not make the same mistake as his father and consulted with her on all matters of business. It surprised and pleased him enormously that he and his mother were always in agreement. The only time she had showed any displeasure was when he had told her about visiting Mr Hale to read the classics.

"And what do you hope to learn from the Iliad about running a mill?" she had asked.

He had smiled and dropped a kiss on her head.

"This Mr Hale of yours, he has a daughter, doesn't he?" she had continued.

"Yes."

"Is she the same girl who was at the mill that day?"

"Yes."

"What is she like?"

"Why don't you pay them a visit and we can see if we are in agreement regarding her character?"

"I don't think I will like her."

Thornton had refused to take the bait. But his mother had been right. Miss Hale had proved to be haughty and set in her opinion. He hoped the upcoming manufacturer's meeting and the purchase of the new looms will help drive away all thoughts of her from his mind.

The next day, Thornton together with Andrew went to a factory situated just outside Milton to inspect and confirm the order of two looms on a trial basis. It was Thornton's habit to lunch at home with his mother. He knew she would be interested to hear about the improvement in the design of the looms. The weather that day was exceptionally fine, and Thornton decided to walk back home. Mr Hale's house was on the way and Thornton thought that it might be prudent if he avoided their street altogether. Just as he was about to take the other street, he saw Margaret emerge from her house.

Something seemed wrong; she didn't look her usual calm self and was walking rather fast. Before he knew what he was about, Thornton found himself following her. She maintained her quick pace, expertly and elegantly threading her way through the crowd, twisting her shoulder this way and that to avoid bumping it against others. She was wearing a white muslin gown and had a light blue shawl draped across her shoulders. She looked completely out of place—a vision in white cutting through a crowd of black and grey. Some of the men she walked by did a double take; others stared after her. Thornton wondered how it would feel to have someone like her walk at his side. The image of her walking with Andrew immediately flashed across his mind. Andrew would know what it feels like, Thornton thought with a stab of jealousy. He has no right to the feeling, Thornton reminded himself. Being a logical man, he also knew that he had no business following her either, but he couldn't deny his curiosity. What was Margaret up to? He looked around to see what street they were on. They were quite far from the hub of the city and she seems to be heading in the direction of the hill.

The hill was located on the outskirts of the city but the people of Milton rarely went there. Thornton wondered what attraction the hill could hold for her. He had been to the hill a couple of times and as much as he was proud of Milton, he knew that while the hill offered an excellent panoramic view of the city and the nearby districts, the city itself looked ugly and squat from up there.

Margaret left the city behind and approached the foot of the hill. It was not a steep climb, Margaret realised. She had seen the hill from the window of her room this morning. She hadn't even been aware that there was a hill. The black smoke that covered Milton had been cleared away that morning by a lovely but strong wind. The sun was shining brightly and the morning light spilled all over Margaret's room.

By afternoon, Milton had spewed enough smoke to eclipse the sun. It will once again be dark and dreary. Margaret couldn't bear that thought. To not be able to feel the sun on her face, the wind in her hair; it was enough to make Margaret heartsick with a desperate longing. She looked out of her window, praying for the wind to gain enough strength to drive away the smoke. She saw that the hill was the only area where there was still some sun.

"I will be back in an hour," she shouted in the direction of the kitchen and ran out.

Margaret felt giddy with happiness as she got closer to the hill. The hill was rather lovely; well, lovely compared to the rest of Milton at least. The grass was overgrown and there were some old trees. Margaret continued climbing. It was wonderfully quiet and remote. Margaret took off her bonnet and shrugged off her shawl. The peak of the hill was not really a peak but a somewhat lopsided plateau. The air was cleaner and the hill commanded an excellent view. Margaret looked at Milton below; it looked like an unnatural, black blot on an otherwise beautiful landscape. Margaret breathed deeply, dropped her bonnet and shawl on the grass and sat down.

Thornton stood at a distance. He would have liked to leave; he had no desire to surprise her again but he had seen a couple of ruffians follow Margaret from the city. They were now standing behind some trees. They had been so keen on their target that they had not realised that they were themselves being followed by Thornton. Margaret, of course, had been completely unaware that she was being followed.

Thornton walked closer, revealing himself to the thugs. He hoped they would abandon whatever plans they had upon realising that Margaret was not alone.

"Miss Hale," he called out.

She turned her head around in surprise. Good God! Was there no escaping this man? She was sure that he had not been at the hill before her; he must have followed her. She stood up and turned around.

"This is not a safe place for a lady," he said, walking towards her.

"You are the only other person here, Mr Thornton," she ground out.

Thornton flinched. She certainly knew how to cut it deep. He closed his heart. His eyes grew cold.

"I am not the only other person here, Miss Hale," Thornton said loudly, looked in the direction where the men were hiding. The men immediately moved away and made their way back down the hill.

Margaret's face paled visibly.

"They had followed you from the city," Thornton said once the men were out of sight.

Margaret was shocked at that. In Helstone, she had always taken long walks without worrying about being accosted by strangers. She began to realise what must have happened and why Mr Thornton had followed her. She flushed as she remembered her words to him. She must apologise.

"You ought to be more careful, Miss Hale. You are in Milton, not Helstone. Surely you realise that," Thornton said with a scowl.

Margaret knew she had erred in thinking that he had sought her out alone but she did not deserve that tone of voice.

"I realise only too well, Mr Thornton," she replied icily, forgetting all about apologising to him and that he had just protected her.

"Yet, you expose yourself to danger."

"I was not aware that I was. In Helstone, this would never have happened."

"But this is not Helstone," Thornton said. "As you realise only too well," he added.

Margaret had never been at the receiving end of a put-down by anyone, let alone a man. Men had always hanged on to her every word and accepted whatever she said without question, not that she ever said anything foolish.

But Mr Thornton was like no one she had ever met. She couldn't get a hold of his character. He didn't have the relaxed, debonair manner of the men she had met in London or Helstone. Those men had smiled with her, flirted with her and engaged in witty banter with her. Margaret couldn't imagine Mr Thornton doing any of those things. He rarely smiled. He spoke and acted with purpose and authority. And she was sure that he was not the sort of man to flirt. And yet, he had smiled at her. He had drawn her into an intense conversation. And while his actions cannot be construed as flirting by any stretch of the imagination, it had caused her to blush furiously every time she thought about it.

When her father had told her that Mr Thornton will be visiting every day, she had been too surprised to say anything. She had no reason to believe that their third meeting would be an improvement over the first two. Her every instinct and sensibility was contrary to his and she was certain that there would never be a point on which they both could agree. She had watched the clock with a mixture of dread and anticipation. Fifteen minutes before he was to arrive, she had decided that a walk was an excellent idea. This is not cowardice, she had told herself, this is self-preservation and peace of mind. And if she was going to have to take a walk, she might as well do some good. She had taken a food basket with her and visited the orphanage that her father had told her about.

As she stood stunned by his jibe, she added another fault to his character. He provoked her like no other and right now, he was succeeding exceedingly well. Well, two can play this game. Without a word, Margaret turned around on her heel, walked back to the spot where she had tossed her bonnet and shawl and sat down with her back firmly to him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you for the reviews, the favourites and follows! It means a lot for someone who is writing fanfiction for the first time :)**

**Hope you enjoy the new chapter.**

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><p>Thornton groaned.<p>

How had the afternoon turned into this, he wondered. The day had promised to be a routine one. But then, he had unexpectedly seen her and despite his resolve, he had followed her. Later, of course, he was glad that he had followed her. He didn't want to think what would have happened if those thugs had found Margaret alone. He had protected her and she had insulted him and before he realised quite how, they had argued and it had ended with her stalking off.

Thornton knew that despite everything that had happened, he could not leave her alone here. He considered if he should wait for her mood to pass. He should not have lost his temper with her. After all, he had given Margaret every reason to doubt him. He looked at her. She hadn't moved an inch. He might end up waiting all afternoon. He groaned again. Taking a deep breath, he slowly began walking towards her.

When she had stormed off, all she wanted to do was get even with him. But now as Margaret sat with her back to him, she realised that she hadn't really thought things through. She should have gathered her things and walked back home. She was beginning to realise that Mr Thornton was not going to leave her alone unprotected, which meant that he was probably still standing where she had left him, which meant that they were still a long way from being done with each other. Instead of making a dignified exit, she was trapped in a foolish game of waiting to see who would make the first move. Fredrick, her brother, would have howled with laughter at her current predicament. Maggie in a snit, he would have said. How she missed Fred, especially now! He would have cushioned her against the hard, new world of Milton; he would have made it bearable with his jokes and laughter. She could have come to the hill with him and none of this would have happened. Oh Fred, where are you, Margaret sighed. The last letter she had received from Fred was almost 6 months ago. He had assured her that he was doing very well and that Spain was a delightful country and that he was enjoying the sun a bit too much—"I finally look like the swarthy, dangerous pirate that I had spent my entire childhood imagining myself to be." Margaret had smiled at that bit. She remembered how they had run wild as children, escaping the watchful eyes of Dixon, their late mother's maid, and played outside till they were sweaty and dizzy from the sun.

"Miss Hale, those thugs might return," Thornton called out, in what he hoped was a reconciliatory tone.

She did not stir. He stopped behind her, a little to the side. He couldn't see her complete profile but she looked like she was deep in thought.

"Allow me to walk you home," he said a bit louder this time.

Margaret was vaguely aware that Mr Thornton was standing behind her and that he was saying something to her, but she was far away in Helstone where she was a little girl playing pirates with her brother, their laughter and squeals ringing in the air.

"Miss Hale?"

The childhood memory had taken such a strong hold over her that she forgot she was upset with Mr Thornton and the only thing she remembered was why she was up here. "Can we sit a while? There is a bit of sun still," Margaret said automatically.

Thornton had prepared himself for biting retort, feminine petulance, and a few seconds ago, he had added stony silence to the list of possible reactions, but an invitation to sit down with her? He didn't know what had brought about the sudden change or the offer to sit with her. He could think of only one reason.

"If this is an apology, it is unnecessary, Miss Hale," Thornton said, trying to study her face for any clue to what was going on in her mind. He had been planning an apology himself, but it seems she had beaten him to it.

Margaret, of course, hadn't meant the invitation as an apology. In fact, she didn't really know what she was saying and to whom until the words were out of her mouth. Saying those words had brought her back to the present along with the mortifying realisation that it was terribly forward and brazen of her to ask Mr Thornton to sit with her in a secluded spot. She offered a silent thanks when he interpreted her words as an apology. But Mr Thornton's response also reminded her that she did have a reason to apologise to him. She would have already if her pride and foolish temper had not got the better of her. Mr Thornton could not be faulted for thinking that the invitation was her way of showing him that she trusted him and that she shouldn't have doubted his intentions in following her. He probably thought she was too proud to make an actual apology.

Margaret finally turned her head around and looked up at Mr Thornton. "That was not an apology, Mr Thornton. I hope that when I apologise, the recipient is left in no doubt about my intention, otherwise it's not really an apology, is it? But I do realise that I have a very good reason to apologise to you. I have behaved very badly just now and I hope you will forgive me," Margaret said sincerely.

"It's alright, Miss Hale," Thornton said, "I should not have spoken to you the way I did. I hope you will forgive me as well."

"We are even then" Margaret said with a smile.

"I believe so," Thornton said, glad to have put an end to this silly little game.

Thornton wondered if Margaret still wanted to sit there. It would be terribly inappropriate; reputations have been lost over much less. A part of him of course wanted nothing more than to sit down with her but he knew that she was in a strange mood when she made the bold request; she couldn't have meant it.

"Shall we return?" Thornton asked.

"Yes," Margaret said quickly, confirming Thornton's belief.

Margaret stood up and bent down to pick up her things. She tied her bonnet, her fingers nimbly knotting the ribbon below her chin and draped the shawl across her shoulder like an empress. Thornton stood watching, unable to tear his eyes away from her. When Margaret finally looked up, she was startled to find Mr Thornton looking at her so intently. She blushed and all the awkwardness that had existed between them suddenly came back.

Thornton offered her his arm and Margaret realised with increasing discomfort that he had not dropped his gaze and that her palms were sweaty. She went to his side and gently rested her hand on the crook of his elbow.

They made their way down the hill in silence. Thornton slowed down to make sure that she didn't lose her footing on the climb down but when they entered the city, he noted that Margaret had started walking at her usual slightly brisk pace. Thornton had wondered how it would feel to have her walk with him and now he knew. He could barely feel the weight of her arm as she was hardly resting her hand on his but his every sense was tuned to her presence. To his frustration, he couldn't quite place her scent. Most of the women he met practically bathed in their perfume; he could smell the violets and the roses long before they even entered the room, but Margaret's was proving to be somewhat elusive due, in no small part, to the overwhelming smells and smoke of Milton.

Thornton was not unaware that people were looking at them. It is not every day that John Thornton, the master of Marlborough Mills, is seen walking with a young lady and one as pretty as Margaret. Thornton knew that he was considered a bit of a catch in the marriage market; his sister was forever trying to get him interested in some Miss or the other. Thornton had taken care that he paid no more attention to any of those girls than what was polite. They were charming and nice enough but they were all the same—they all said the same things, acted the same way—it's almost as if they were manufactured at the same factory, Thornton had thought wryly. Besides, he was not really looking for a wife and because he was not looking for a wife, he had not put a lot of thought into the kind of girl he would like to marry, except that she be different. But different how, was again something that Thornton had not given much thought to.

But now walking with Margaret, he thought that she was different from all those girls that his sister had forced into his acquaintance. And if he be honest, he had to admit that she was different in ways that he was not prepared for. She had come unescorted into his mill; no lady ever entered a mill or factory—not even his mother had entered his mill. But Margaret had and not only that, she had proceeded to question his actions in front of his workers.

Margaret was every bit a lady and yet he had found her working along with her maid. Mr Hale was too old and frail to help move the furniture; the two girls alone must have been responsible for setting up the house. Thornton couldn't get his sister to bring him the newspaper from the drawing room without a stern look. Later that day, Margaret had again challenged him; Thornton couldn't recall ever hearing a contradictory word or opinion from any of the young ladies he knew. And what about today? Today had to be the most unusual, alarming, maddening, frustrating and exciting day of his life. He had been so surprised, so many times, that he wondered if his eyebrows were still up in surprise. And it was all because of her. Thornton stole a quick look at Margaret. She looked rather demure; nobody who saw her now would believe her capable of the little scene that she had created when she had stomped off, her eyes flashing with anger.

The object of his thoughts had also become aware that they were attracting a bit of attention. She had finally started to relax after Mr Thornton had been forced to look ahead instead of at her. Margaret had met enough young men to not be unused to their admiring gaze. But as with everything else, Mr Thornton's gaze was far too direct and intense and he obviously did not know when to look away or stop staring. What upset her even more was her own reaction. Her heart had beaten wildly; she could barely get her feet to walk. She who had spent her childhood climbing trees and racing her brother across fields couldn't even manage to climb down from the hill! She had been all too aware of his nearness, his long strides, the stiff fabric of his coat, the muscles of his arm beneath the fabric and the strength and heat radiating from them.

She was glad when they entered the city; she hoped that the sights and sounds of the city will distract her from him, but the public attention had made her nervous all over again. After almost two weeks in Milton, she knew that Mr Thornton was a well-known figure and she supposed that him being seen with an unknown lady would be cause of some speculation. If they were going to be a public curiosity, they could at least act normal instead of walking as if in a parade. They hadn't spoken a word since they started walking and Margaret wondered if she should make some small talk.

Luckily for her, Thornton had the exact same thought.

"Helstone must be lovely," Thornton said, saving her the trouble.

"Yes, it is," Margaret warmed up immediately. "You must visit Helstone. It is especially lovely this time of the year. The fields would be full of wild flowers. Last year, the two little Lucas girls—the Lucas' were our neighbours—made flower crowns and danced around in the fields pretending they were fairies," she laughed at the memory. Then, looking at Mr Thornton, she smiled, "You would have found it very heathen."

"I was thinking Arcadian," Thornton returned her smile.

"The hill has such a good view, I wonder why people don't visit it, especially today," Margaret said.

"People in Milton do not have time for leisure. This is a manufacturing city; here, time is money," Thornton said.

"But to enjoy a few hours of leisure can't be a waste of time. It would revive the spirits," Margaret countered. "Look at these people: I have never seen so much hopelessness and despair. In Helstone too there were poor people, but they never looked so weighed down. Won't it do them good to find some solace and courage in nature?"

It seemed every conversation between them was in danger of becoming a disagreement. On another day and with another person, Thornton would have told them that it is not solace that the poor need but discipline and a willingness to work hard and lift themselves out of poverty. He did not have any sympathy for romantic notions about hardship. But Thornton did not want to contradict her, not today, not now when he was still trying to figure out what perfume she wore.

"Is that why you had gone to the hill?" Thornton asked, turning the conversation back to her.

"Yes, I suppose," Margaret admitted, a bit surprised at the question. "The weather was really lovely this morning and I couldn't bear to not be outside. But now..." Margaret looked up and trailed off.

Thornton looked up as well and saw Milton through her eyes. The usual smoky darkness had descended upon Milton. The sky which should have been blue was grey and instead of white clouds, puffs of black smoke were scattered across the sky. The air was filled with a fine grey dust which settled on everything. Thornton looked at Margaret's gown and saw that it was soiled. The delicate muslin had caught the dust and the gown which had looked pristine not one hour ago, now looked jaded. She really didn't belong in Milton, Thornton realised. But he did and he had a sinking feeling that that might just prove to be his tragedy.

"Maybe it will be a clear day tomorrow," Margaret said hopefully. She had noticed that Mr Thornton had become very quiet.

"Maybe," Thornton repeated to himself.

They had reached her house. Margaret removed her hand from his and stood facing him.

"Thank you, Mr Thornton," Margaret said primly.

"You are welcome."

Margaret hesitated at the steps. "We will see you in the evening then," she said. It could not have escaped his notice that she had been avoiding him these last couple of days and after today, it would be unforgivably rude if she were to be absent when he came visiting; she wanted to tell him that she would be home.

Thornton had told her father that he will not be coming tonight, but judging from her question, it was clear that Mr Hale had once again forgotten to tell his daughter about the cancelled visit.

"If it will not inconvenience you," Thornton said.

"Oh, no. You are most welcome at our house. Papa enjoys your company very much," Margaret said quickly.

And you, Thornton wanted to ask. But he should not be so hopeful or eager. He knew he had to tread carefully with Margaret. The events of this afternoon had presented him a second chance and for now he was glad that she was no longer planning to avoid him.

"Yes, I will come by," Thornton said, wondering what Mr Hale would make of it.

"I will see you in the evening then," said Margaret, finally giving him a smile so stunning that Thornton was rendered speechless for a moment.

"Miss Hale," Thornton finally found his tongue. He bowed and turned to walk back home.

Lavender, he smiled to himself after a while.


	5. Chapter 5

**_A sort of in-between chapter, a breather, a set-up for what I hope will be an explosive chapter 6._**

**_Enjoy! :) _**

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><p>When Margaret entered the kitchen, she found Katie sobbing in the corner and the cook consoling her.<p>

"Katie, what happened," Margaret immediately went to her side.

"It's Bessie. She coughed blood this morning. Father told her to stay home. He won't say it but I know she is dying," Katie sobbed into Margaret's shoulder.

Margaret knew that Katie's elder sister worked at the mills and was not keeping well. She had often visited the sick along with her father in Helstone and she knew what it meant when someone coughed up blood.

"Would you like to go see how Bessie is doing?" Margaret asked.

Katie silently nodded her head.

"I will come with you," Margaret said to Katie's surprise.

"Bessie will be so happy to see you, Miss," Katie said wiping her tears.

Margaret asked the cook to prepare a quick lunch that they could take for Bessie and soon they were off.

"Bessie, look who is here to meet you," Katie shouted as she opened the door to her house. Their house was a small, ramshackle little structure. On the ground floor was a large hall which served as the dining room, kitchen and nursery. There were three little children who were playing with some old dolls. In the corner was a bed, partly hidden by a curtain. Katie moved the curtains and Margaret saw a young woman about the same age as her lying on the bed. Bessie was painfully thin, but her eyes had humour and intelligence.

"Miss Hale," she said rising up from the bed.

Katie helped her sister sit up and placed a few cushions to support her. Margaret sat on the chair next to the bed.

"How are you, Bessie," Margaret asked.

"As well as can be hoped," Bessie said with a shrug. She looked at Katie and the two sisters shared a smile.

Margaret looked from Bessie to Katie and said "I hope you have said only good things about me to your sister, Katie," she said in a mock-stern tone.

"Don't worry about that. She can't stop talking about how nice and pretty you are even though I told her that I have seen her Miss Hale," Bessie said.

Katie grinned; she was enjoying showing off her Miss.

"Miss Margaret brought you lunch, Bessie. Shall I put on the kettle? You will have tea, won't you, Miss?" Katie asked Margaret.

Margaret nodded. After Katie left them, Margaret turned to Bessie.

"You said you'd seen me," Margaret asked.

"Yes, that day at the mill when you tried to save Stephens. I was there," Bessie said.

"Oh! You work at Mr Thornton's mill."

"Yes, Mr Thornton didn't see that coming now, did he?" Bessie chuckled.

"What happened to Stephens?" Margaret asked.

"What do you reckon? Those are his children," Bessie said nodding in the direction of the children playing on the floor. The eldest was barely seven years old.

"Father took them in. Stephen is looking for a job but no one will take a man who was thrown out for smoking inside a mill," Bessie continued.

"Your father is a very kind man," Margaret said.

"We got to take care of each other. The Masters won't; to them, we're just hands," Bessie said.

Margaret who had decided to try think better of Mr Thornton found her resolve failing. The horrible memory of him beating Stephens and dismissing him from the job came flooding back to her. Mr Thornton had ignored Stephen pleas and now his little children were living on the kindness of others, one step away from starvation. Bessie's father was a kind man but it was clear that he was barely able to care for his own daughters. The added burden of Stephen's three children must be very hard on him.

"Can I do anything to help?" Margaret asked.

"You are kind, Miss Margaret and I know you mean well but how long can you keep sending food," Bessie asked, turning to look at the children. Katie was offering them bread from the basket; the children took it greedily and finished it in a few quick bites.

"Father says the only person who can help us is us," Bessie said as the children turned their attention back to the dolls.

Margaret had often heard her own father say the same thing. "God help those who help themselves," her father had become fond of quoting. Mr Hale had decided that he would rather do what needs to be done instead of waiting for divine providence. He had kept his increasing doubts to himself and quietly carried about his work as a pastor but when the Bishop had asked him to reaffirm his faith, her father had refused. That day Margaret had seen a different side to her quiet, affable father. She found herself admiring and respecting his honesty and integrity, even though it meant that they would have to leave her beloved Helstone.

"I should like to meet your father," Margaret said with a smile.

"I think you should meet other young ladies. Katie says that none of the town folks have come visiting yet," Bessie said, her voice gently teasing.

"Mr Thornton visits every day," Katie said as she handed Margaret her cup and placed some bread in front of Bessie.

"He does?" Bessie looked at Margaret in surprise.

"He comes to read with Papa," Margaret said quickly.

"Read what?" Bessie asked.

"Homer," when this was met with a blank look from Bessie, Margaret added, "Books, poems…"

"Poems? Mr Thornton?" Bessie asked astonished.

"It's not that kind of poem. It's about war and battle, Gods, warriors, beasts, dragons … it's Greek!" Margaret said, as if that ought to explain everything.

"Hum mm," Bessie bit into her bread thoughtfully. "It's well he didn't send his mother to welcome you. There's a dragon, for you."

"Bessie!" Katie was surprised at her sister's rather free speech.

"What? You've seen her," Bessie poked her sister.

Margaret thought it best to keep quiet. She was not surprised to hear Mr Thornton's mother described thus. Mr Thornton's mother would have to be a formidable lady and it was well that she didn't deem the Hales worth a visit. One Thornton was more than enough for a person to deal with.

At that very moment, the lady in question, Hannah Thornton, was questioning her son.

"John! What took you so long?"

"I hope you didn't wait for me, mother," Thornton said, a bit guilty.

"I did. And you didn't answer my question."

"First, let's eat something. You are never in a good mood when you are hungry. Besides, I am starving," Thornton pulled the bell.

"Those looms must have exceeded your expectations. You seem to be in an excellent mood for someone who is starving."

"Come now, mother," Thornton began gently steered her towards the dining room.

"Mother, you won't believe what Miss Latimer told me. She said she saw John with…" Fanny Thornton burst into the room and stopped when she saw her brother and her mother. "Oh!" she finished weakly.

"Go on, don't stop gossiping on my account," Thornton said with a superior look.

"Well…?" Hannah asked when Fanny refused to say anything further.

"She said she saw John with Miss Hale," Fanny said, looking at the carpet.

Hannah turned to look at Thornton.

"I will tell you about it mother; can we eat first?" Thornton said, realising that he will have to tell her about this afternoon. He had clearly underestimated how fast news travels. He would rather his family hear the truth, that is, an abridged version of the truth than an embellished version from whoever this Miss Latimer is.

As Thornton and Hannah sat down, Fanny joined them.

"I was able to provide some assistance to Miss Hale," Thornton said after taking a few bites first.

This was met with silence from his mother and sister.

"She had lost her way and I saw her home," Thornton explained.

"Goodness, where was she planning to go?" Fanny asked.

"She was exploring the city," Thornton said.

"On her own? How odd!" Fanny said looking at her mother, waiting for her to express her disapproval.

Hannah was watching her son. He seemed greatly interested in polishing off the chicken on his plate. She will have to meet this Miss Hale. She seems to be intruding into their lives—John's life, to be precise—too much for her liking. Even though she had not met the girl, Hannah's instinct as a mother told her that she will only bring trouble. She hoped that the girl was not some ambitious chit trying to snare a wealthy husband. John would see through such a person, but a great many intelligent men have been taken for fools by scheming women.

But right now, she needed to deal with Fanny. "I hope you will not help spread gossip about your own brother," Hannah said sternly.

"I would never!" Fanny cried outraged.

"Clearly, Miss Hale doesn't have any friends here. I think we should pay them a visit," Hannah declared.

Thornton wondered whether he should agree with his mother or keep quiet. After Fanny's ill-timed announcement, he had no hope of escaping his mother's close scrutiny. Thornton was not in the habit of keeping secrets from his mother, but this was too close, too raw, too new and he was not ready to have anyone, even his mother, pry his heart for answers.

"I think I should like to meet Miss Hale," Fanny finally said. "They are from the South, aren't they? We don't know anyone from there," she said, addressing no one in particular.

"Andrew is from the South," Thornton pointed out, glad for the distraction.

"He doesn't count. He is just like us," Fanny said. "What is she like?" Fanny asked Thornton.

This must have been the second time he had been asked that question. There was no avoiding it. He knew his mother would be interested in hearing his description of Margaret.

"She is rather independent," he said.

"We already know that," Fanny said.

"Then you know as much about her as I do," Thornton said, starting to get annoyed with the questioning.

"I meant, what does she look like? Is she pretty?" Fanny could only manage to get a vague description of Miss Hale from Ann Latimer.

"Exceedingly," Thornton said, partly to annoy Fanny and partly because there didn't seem to be any point denying it.

"Oh!"

"Now, if you don't have any more questions," Thornton said, looking at his sister. He got up from the table and went to his room to put on a new coat and take his copy of the Iliad. He planned to go to Mr Hale's house directly from the mill.

"I will be on time for dinner," he told his mother and went out.

While Fanny chattered on, Hannah sat thinking to herself about her son. John had looked distracted these last few days. He would sit with the newspaper but she could tell that he was not reading a word. When he came home after reading with Mr Hale, he had looked almost sullen. She had attributed it to the trouble that the workers were creating. Clearly, Homer didn't help take his mind off his mill. She had waited for him to tell her about whatever was bothering him, but he hadn't. Last night, he had been in a bad temper and had retired early. But this afternoon, the change in John's mood was all too evident and now she knew why. She wondered if he would have told her about his meeting with Miss Hale if Fanny had not broken the news first. John had never shown any inclination towards any of the young ladies they knew and Hannah was secretly pleased. None of them were remarkable in any way. None of them deserved John. She knew she had no right to dictate what girl he married but she hoped that it would be someone who saw him for the brave and strong man that he was. Only Hannah knew much her boy had struggled and suffered. While his friends had completed their education and went on their grand tours, John had worked as an overseer at a cotton mill during the day and as an accountant's clerk at night. He had barely slept and had survived on just one meal a day for years. She remembered how he had looked when he had told her that he had paid off the last of his father's debts.

"Now, I will work for myself," he had told her, his eyes shining with tears and determination.

Hannah never once doubted John's success. He was exceptionally bright and had learned the business well when he worked as an overseer. When he reopened the mill that had been closed for nearly five years, others had scoffed and doubted him. But he had proved them wrong. Marlborough Mills was now the largest cotton mill in Milton and John only had his intelligence and determination to thank for it. How could any girl be expected to understand all this? Especially one who had moved to Milton barely a week ago. And especially one who had tried to tell John how to run his business. And now it seems that John has taken a fancy to this girl. She would definitely have to meet Miss Hale and see what she was about.


	6. Chapter 6

Margaret had spent a charming afternoon with Bessie, Katie and the three children. Despite her fatal illness, Bessie had a quiet humour and grace. Margaret had never seen anyone look as serene as Bessie looked as she sat upon her bed and joked while she and Katie played and made friends with Stephen's young children.

Margaret had a knack with children and it never took her more than ten minutes to be friends with them. Once Margaret taught the three children how to make shadow animals with their hands, the three decided that "Margie" can be trusted with their little secret. The secret was an adorable little puppy that the children had found in an alley and had kept hidden under Bessie's bed.

Bessie and Katie feigned surprise and astonishment as the puppy was produced from under the bed. "What's his name?" Bessie asked as the puppy made desperate attempt to lick her face.

"Boots!"

"Charlie!"

"No, she is Bella!"

After much debate and discussion, and after determining the gender, they settled on Mr Woof – which they all agreed was a perfectly respectable and appropriate name.

When Nicholas Higgins came home during his lunch break to check on Bessie, he was surprised to find so much laughter and a bonny new face.

"Were they hiding her under the bed as well," he asked his daughters, pointing towards Margaret.

But the mood in the house had gradually changed with Nicholas' entry. Margaret had noticed the worry etched on his face as he looked at the little brood. He had shrugged off Margaret's admiration for his act of kindness and had politely but firmly refused her offer to help with Stephen's children.

"Miss Hale, they will not starve. You might find it hard to believe, given our circumstances, but I can take care of them," Higgins had told her.

As Margaret returned home with Katie, she felt as much bound to Bessie and the little children as she felt to Fred and just as helpless to do anything to save or secure them. She knew that Bessie will go back to work tomorrow and will continue to work for as long as her frail health will allow. Higgins will do everything he can for the children till Stephens finds a new job. Did Mr Thornton realise or care how many lives depended on his decisions? As the hour of Mr Thornton arrival approached, Margaret slowly felt her anger towards him for his callous disregard for his workers and their families returning. Perhaps he did not know, she reasoned to herself. Perhaps, she could talk to him about it.

As Thornton walked towards Mr Hale's house, he couldn't shake off the worry that Andrew's news had brought him. All the cotton mills workers in Milton were planning a strike by the end of this month and their leader was Nicholas Higgins—a firebrand and uncompromising man by all accounts. A strike was basically a battle of nerves, a blinking contest that Thornton had little patience for. Workers had gone on strike before but they always gave in within a few days. But Higgins and his gang had been organising meetings these last few months and rallying the workers and trying to convince them to continue with the strike till their demands were met. What they did not want to consider was that the strike could threaten the cotton business in Milton, the very business on which their livelihood depended. They were counting on the Masters to cave in and give in to their demands before the business began to truly suffer. Thornton could hold out for a week, ten days at most, but not beyond that. With production halted, orders would not be met and buyers will turn to other manufacturers.

As Thornton knocked at the door, he was still deep in thought. The door was opened by the maid who showed him to the study. Margaret was standing near the fire and at the sound of his footsteps, she turned around. Thornton caught his breath. He would never get used to her beauty. Her skin was flushed from the heat; her hair had caught the light and formed a sort of soft halo around her face. He drank her in and forgot all about the impending strike and his worries.

"Miss Hale," he bowed.

"Mr Thornton, please sit down. Papa is not yet home. He must be delayed at the library," she said.

Thornton hoped Mr Hale was not planning to return home late as he was not expecting Thornton this evening. If Mr Hale didn't come soon, he would have to tell Margaret about the original cancellation.

"Shall I ring for the tea?" Margaret asked.

"Not yet. Thank you," Thornton said.

They sat in silence looking at the fire burning in the grate. After a minute, which felt like an hour to both of them, they decided it best to break the awkward silence.

"How far have you progressed with the Iliad?" Margaret asked.

"I hope you have settled in," Thornton enquired at the same time.

"Yes, we have settled in. I am trying to find a new routine here. There isn't much to do. But I have made some new friends today and I will be visiting them as much as I can," Margaret said.

"New friends," Thornton hoped he didn't look too curious.

"Bessie, she is my maid's sister. She works in your mill," Margaret said.

Thornton looked at her in surprise. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised. Trust Margaret Hale to befriend the Hands. He could only hope that they haven't filled her mind with nonsense about the tyranny of the Masters.

"Interesting friends," he commented.

"You do not approve," Margaret said, upset with his slightly patronising tone.

"Miss Hale, I am no one to approve or disapprove your choice of friends," Thornton pointed out with a smile.

Margaret immediately flustered.

"Well, she is my friend," she said a bit defensively.

Thornton, of course, didn't know or particularly remember Bessie. He had sixty workers at his mill and unless they created trouble, he had no reason to know any of them by name. Margaret, on the other hand, was surprised that Mr Thornton did not seem to know the names of his workers. Helstone was a reasonable large parish and there were more than 40 families but her father had known each one of those families—rich and poor—and every single member of those families—child and adult.

"Bessie is not well. It's a lung infection. I heard it is common among the workers," Margaret said.

"It is. It's the cotton that they breathe in."

Margaret looked at Mr Thornton trying to determine how he felt about it. But he looked impassive.

"I guess it means nothing to you," Margaret said feeling her old anger erupting.

Thornton was taken aback. He knew that something was bothering her but he did not expect a direct attack. Ever since they met, all she had done was attack and accuse him.

"How did you arrive at that conclusion," he asked his own temper rising.

"You don't even know the names of the people who work for you. You don't care if they suffer or live or die."

"I may not know their names but it matters to me if they suffer or die. I would be a poor Master if I don't think about them."

"You only think about them in terms of the work they do for you."

"How else am I supposed to think about them?" Thornton said rising from his chair in his frustration.

"With human sympathy! With compassion!" Margaret rose as well.

"You think I am without compassion?" Thornton stepped towards her.

"I don't know you well enough, Mr Thornton, but so far you have not shown any evidence of it."

"That's because I cannot afford it."

"You? Not afford it?"

"Miss Hale, I may own the biggest mill in Milton but I do not have unlimited funds. I run a mill, not a charity."

"I speak of compassion, Mr Thornton, not money," Margaret cried out.

"And compassion costs money!"

Margaret thought about the money it had cost to take food to the children at the orphanage or even today. It was money that they could ill-afford but she had done whatever little she could.

"Compassion can be shown in small ways too, Mr Thornton," Margaret bit out.

Thornton didn't have a reply to this.

"What would you have me do?" he finally asked her. Something in his tone suggested to Margaret that he would indeed do what she asked him. That she was perhaps the only person that he would make this concession to.

"Take back Stephens."

"I can't," he shook his head.

Margaret turned away from him, her disappointment in him clear. Thornton curled his fists in frustration; he simply could not do what she asked.

"It would set a bad example. He cannot be trusted," Thornton tried to explain to her but she refused to look at him. She kept looking at the fire that was burning out in the grate.

Thornton swore to himself and walked towards the window and looked out. They felt silent again.

"He has two boys and a girl. Tom, Ellie and Arthur," her voice was quiet. "They live with Bessie and Katie now. Their father, Nicholas Higgins, took the children in."

"Nicholas Higgins?" Thornton turned around.

"Mr Higgins works at one of the mills. He doesn't have much himself," Margaret turned and faced him. "But he showed compassion."

"I know who Nicholas Higgins is. He is a union leader. He is asking all the workers to strike. Tell me Miss Hale, when they go on strike and when they stop getting wages, how will he feed those children?"

This time Margaret didn't have a reply. She didn't know much about the strike. Higgins had assured her that he will take care of the children. She knew he was a proud man and she didn't want to offend him by insisting on offering help and so she had kept her doubts to herself. She hoped that Higgin's pride would not stop him from asking her for help, should the need arise.

"Nicholas Higgins has no more compassion than the Masters that he hates so much."

Margaret sat down. The wind had gone out of her argument, and with it her anger. She now only felt the unfairness of the world. "Why can't people simply care for each other? Why should something so simple be so hard to do," Margaret asked quietly.

Thornton marvelled at her idealism and naivety. They always seemed to go together. Margaret had much to learn about the practical world. How does one even begin to answer what was such a simple yet profound question?

"Human nature," Mr Hale replied from the door of the study.

Thornton and Margaret turned their heads around in surprise.

"Papa! When did you come? I didn't hear you at the door," Margaret stood up.

"I let myself in," Mr Hale said removing his overcoat.

Thornton shook his hand.

"I am glad to see you, Mr Thornton," Mr Hale said with a smile.

Thornton was about to explain his presence, but Mr Hale continued, "So should we read Plato? He has some very interesting things to say about human nature and ethics."

"I don't have a copy of The Republic," Thornton said.

"That's alright. We have one, don't we Maggie?" Mr Hale said sitting down in his chair near the fire.

"I will get it," Margaret said turning towards the bookshelf. The book was on one of the top rows and Margaret couldn't reach it.

"Shall I get it for you?" Thornton was standing right behind her.

Margaret immediately stepped away from him. Mr Thornton was looking at the books in the top row. He was so tall, Margaret barely reached up to his shoulders.

"It's on the second row from the top. Here," she said pointing at the book.

Thornton pulled out the book and gave it to her.

"You can take it to papa. I will get the tea," Margaret said.

"Won't you read with us," Thornton asked her.

"I don't think we'll find our answers in Plato."

"Nonsense! Plato has all the answers," Mr Hale said from behind his chair.

"I think Plato is an old bore," Margaret whispered to Thornton, but loud enough for her father to hear.

"I heard that!"

"Very well then, but don't blame me if I fall asleep," Margaret grinned at her father; her good mood restored for the time being.

For nearly an hour, Mr Hale and Thornton discussed Plato over hot cups of tea while Margaret made occasional comments. Thornton realised that she was not joking when she said that she might fall asleep. He had caught her yawning on two occasions. She did it in such an artless, unselfconscious way; Thornton felt that he knew her a little better just by watching her yawn. But when she yawned a third time, Thornton decided it was time to end the visit.

After Mr Hale saw Thornton to the door, he asked Margaret to sit with him for a while.

"Maggie, you shouldn't have spoken thus to Mr Thornton. I heard a good deal of your… disagreement from the hall."

"I am sorry, Papa. Mr Thornton may be a friend of yours but I cannot overlook his treatment of his workers."

"What has the poor fellow done that has upset you so? Most people that I have spoken to think he is a very fair Master. He is also generous and kind, I can vouch for it myself. When he found out from Bell that we were looking for accommodations, he immediately offered us this house."

"Because he was looking for a tenant," Margaret interrupted.

"At a lower rent," Mr Hale continued, ignoring Margaret. "Bell told him why we were moving to Milton and that I cannot pay for a large house."

Margaret digested this in silence. Richard Hale saw the battle being waged in his daughter's mind. She had a ridiculously easy face to read. She opened her mouth to speak but he raised his hand to stop her.

"No, there is no need to apologise to him or thank him. We are not supposed to know about it. I, of course, got Bell to tell me about it but Mr Thornton doesn't know that we know. I don't want him to think that he is welcome in our house because he showed us kindness. I like the fellow because he is an interesting young man."

Chastened, Margaret got up and kissed her father.

"I shall try not to judge him harshly," she said.

"Or judge him without knowing all the facts," Mr Hale added. "He is one of the few manufacturers to have installed a device in his factory that helps to keep the air clear. So that the workers don't breath in cotton."

"Oh, Papa!" Margaret cried out mortified.

"Let that be a lesson to you, child," Mr Hale said patting her head.

Margaret had her heart in the right place but she had the blind fury of the righteous. The same fury that drove Fred to disobey his commander and declare revolt. Richard Hale did not want his daughter to do anything that she would live to regret her entire life. He had heard the entire argument and realised a good deal as well. That Mr Thornton was very much taken by Margaret any fool could see, except his Maggie. But that was nothing new. It had been the same with that pompous fellow, Henry. Thank God, Margaret had the good sense to refuse him. But Mr Thornton was of a different mould altogether. But he didn't know who he was dealing with in Margaret and Margaret didn't know who she was dealing with in Mr Thornton. He supposed watching them resolve their differences will be amusing and tiresome in equal parts. He yawned.

"I think I will take a little nap before dinner," he said and closed his eyes while Margaret sat, still looking aghast.


	7. Chapter 7

_I just can't bring myself to write Fanny as a complete nit-wit. I refuse to believe that Mr Thornton's sister would be so ditzy - spoiled, yes; a gossip, yes but not a scatterbrain and certainly not rude or mean. Of course, I don't want to make her into a highly sensible young lady either, where would be the fun in that. So my Fanny ("my Fanny" - err... no pun intended and all that) is fun, sympathetic and occasionally inappropriate._

_Enjoy!_

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><p>"Mrs and Miss Thornton have come to see you, Miss," Katie announced the next day.<p>

Margaret looked up from her sketchbook.

This was unexpected. Margaret had begun to believe that Mr Thornton's mother did not regard a humble schoolmaster's family as worthy of her acquaintance. Which only went to show how insignificant and of little consequence her father and she were in Milton. But whatever could be the reason for a visit now? Margaret had the terrible feeling that Mr Thornton must have asked his mother to do so; after last night, he must have realised that she didn't have _proper_ friends in Milton. She couldn't decide if she was offended by the implication or grateful for his thoughtfulness. Probably, both.

"Have you showed them to the drawing room?" Margaret asked closing her sketchbook and putting back her pencils.

"Yes."

"Ask cook to prepare tea and some biscuits."

Now that she was here, Margaret had to admit that she was more than a little curious about Mr Thornton's mother. Bessie had said that Mrs Thornton was a formidable lady but Margaret was not afraid or impressed. Her own Dixon was quite a formidable woman. Dixon could make grown men cower and had successful chased off half a dozen of Margaret's undesirable suitors back in Helstone. Margaret had lived with Dixon her entire life and had survived unscathed and stronger; an hour in the company of Mrs Thornton would be a walk in the park.

But Margaret had not known about the sister. It was hard to imagine Mr Thornton with a sibling; him as a young boy. Frankly, it was hard to imagine him as anything but as he was now. Tall, proud and with that direct gaze. And with that temper. Margaret smoothed her skirt and checked her hair. She went downstairs quickly, not wanting to keep the mother and daughter waiting.

One look at Mrs Thornton and it was clear where her son got his proud bearing and scowl from. She was wearing a gown of black silk and sat erect with her hands folded neatly on her lap. Upon Margaret's entrance, both rose from the sofa. Mrs Thornton was rather tall.

"Mrs Thornton," Margaret bobbed her head in a small curtsy.

"Good afternoon, Miss Hale," Hannah said with a slight tilt of her head.

"Miss Thornton," Margaret nodded her head.

"Miss Hale," Fanny did the same.

The sister didn't look at all like Mr Thornton. While the mother and son were all about composure, the sister was full of quick movements. She was pretty with bright eyes and wore an obviously expensive and fashionable gown.

Margaret gave both of them a warm smile. "It is kind of you to visit. Please sit down," she said.

"We would have come sooner but I wanted to give you time to settle in," Hannah said.

"That's very considerate of you," Margaret said.

"Your father is at the school, I believe."

"Yes."

"And your mother…?"

"She passed away when I was a young girl."

"Oh!" Fanny exclaimed.

Margaret looked at Fanny, who was looking at her with undisguised curiosity. She wasn't sure whether the "Oh" was said in shock or sympathy so she looked back at Mrs Thornton, who was looking at her as if she was expecting further explanation. Further explanation about what, Margaret wasn't sure. Margaret had no recollection of her mother; she was two when her mother died.

"And your father never remarried?"

Mrs Thornton certain didn't beat around the bush. Margaret couldn't recall being expected to share personal details of her family less than two minutes of making someone's acquaintance.

"No. We had Dixon, my late mother's maid. She raised me."

Mrs Thornton lifted her right brow.

"Along with Aunt Shaw, my mother's sister. She lives in London," Margaret added.

"London! Did you live in London?" Fanny asked.

"Yes, I have spent a few years in London and visit often," Margaret said.

"I would love to go to London. I do adore the concerts there. Do you sing?" Fanny asked.

"I am afraid not very well."

"Can you play the piano?"

"A little."

"Can you play any other instrument?"

"No"

"Do you ride?"

And on and on it went. Fanny asked her so many questions, it made Margaret's head spin. When Katie arrived with the tea, Margaret was glad for the reprieve. Once she had handed them their cups, the onslaught continued. It was now Mrs Thornton's turn.

"How do you find Milton, Miss Hale?"

Margaret supposed there was no better way to answer the question than the truth. "I am afraid I don't understand the North too well."

"What don't you understand?"

"The customs, the people," Margaret hesitated, "the struggle between the workers and the Masters. Everything is so different and new to me. Things were simpler in Helstone."

Mrs Thornton regarded her a moment. "Do you wish to return to Helstone?"

Admitting that she wanted to return would be betraying her father and his judgement. But did she really want to return? Had Mrs Thornton asked her this question a week back, Margaret realised that she might have said yes. But now? She thought of Bessie and Tom and Arthur and Ellie. She thought of her father. He looked happier and much more relaxed in Milton, no longer plagued by doubt and his conscience.

"No, I only wish to understand the life here better," Margaret said with a smile.

"I see," Mrs Thornton said and then fell silent.

"Perhaps, you can join us for the concert next week," Fanny said brightly. "It's just as good as the concerts in London. Miss Latimer will be there as well. I will introduce you."

"I will be delighted," Margaret said.

"Excellent! Do you read?"

"Uh… yes."

"Novels?"

"Yes."

"What novel are you reading now?"

"_Pride and Prejudice_"

"Oh, I love it!" Fanny clapped her hands in delight.

Finally! Something that they have in common, Margaret sighed with relief.

"How far are you in the story?" Fanny asked.

"Elizabeth has just been invited to Rosings Park for dinner."

"Oh, you are about to get to the best part! Please do read it quickly so that we can discuss it," Fanny said eagerly.

"I would love that, Miss Thornton," Margaret said a bit surprised at Miss Thornton's sudden enthusiasm towards her.

"Please call me Fanny," Fanny said with what appeared to be a genuine smile.

"Then, you must call me Margaret," Margaret returned her smile.

"Done! What other novels have you read?"

And on and on it went again. But this time Margaret didn't mind the questions. Fanny, she realised, thought and spoke with dizzying speed. Her mind moved from one topic to the next without missing a beat. Margaret found herself trying to keep up with her.

While Margaret and Fanny were discussing _Sense and Sensibility_, Hannah was trying to make up her mind about Miss Hale. She could clearly see her appeal. The girl had the kind of face that would stop men in their tracks. Her manners and movements were graceful but they also had the quick, playful quality of youth. Not many men would stand a chance against that. But she had expected Miss Hale to be beautiful—had not John said so himself. What Hannah was interested in was what sort of girl she was and here she was indeed surprised. She may be from the South but Miss Hale was no blushing rose. She was honest and direct, with none of the superior Southern manner about her. She seemed like a supremely capable girl. She couldn't be more than twenty but she was already running a house. Of course, it's not a big house, but still. Although a shawl was tossed carelessly on one of the chairs and a few books were lying about on a corner table (Hannah itched to put them back in their place), the room was tidy; not a speck of dust (quite a miracle in Milton), Hannah noted with satisfaction. The maid had come with the tea quickly enough and the biscuits were hot from the oven, which was evidence of a well-run kitchen. She treated Hannah with the right amount of deference and if she can keep up with Fanny, Hannah figured she owed the girl some measure of respect.

"I could show you some of the parks in Milton. It must have been dreadful getting lost," Fanny said.

"Err… yes, that would be lovely, thank you," Margaret said, wondering where Fanny got the idea that she had lost her way.

"Had you gone out far?" Fanny asked.

For a moment, Margaret had no clue what Fanny was talking about. Then, it hit her. Yesterday, at the hill. Did Mr Thornton tell his family about the incident? If yes, what exactly did he say? Margaret realised that both Fanny and Mrs Thornton were waiting for her reply.

"A bit," Margaret said.

"It's good that you found John," Fanny said.

"Yes," Margaret said. "Really fortunate," she added, recalling the thugs who had followed her.

Margaret's confusion and guarded reply were not lost on Mrs Thornton. She wondered what part of the story had John left out. Mrs Thornton sighed. John was a grown man and she had no business asking where and who he spent his time with. So far she had been satisfied with Miss Hale. She obviously hadn't much by way of fortune (not that John needed to marry an heiress) but if John liked her, she would do alright. That Miss Hale may not want to marry John was something that never occurred to Hannah.

"Miss Hale, please do not hesitate to come to me if you need any help," Mrs Thornton said rising from her chair.

"That's kind of you, Mrs Thornton. Thank you," Margaret said.

They made their farewell, with promises with meet soon. Margaret watched as the mother and the daughter climbed their elegant carriage and drove off.

Returning to the room, Margaret slumped into the chair. Mr Thornton's family. The mother was more or less what she had expected but the sister! She had been surprised at Fanny's offer of friendship; but God, she was hilarious and exhausting. She giggled as she tried to picture Mr Thornton having a conversation with Fanny. Oh, she would gladly visit the Thorntons just to see the two siblings interact. With that happy thought, she popped a biscuit into her mouth and went back to her sketchbook.

Later that evening, after dinner, Thornton sat through an elaborate discussion and dissection of Margaret's character, which Fanny conducted all by herself. He had been reading the newspaper while his mother sat with her embroidery. Fanny declared Margaret to be "reasonable pretty"; it was a shame that she was not blonde, for then, she could truly be called beautiful. It was also a shame that she could not sing or play the piano. But she was a great reader like her and had promised to give her a copy of Mr Dickens' latest novel.

"She doesn't have any airs, although she has lived in London," Fanny said.

"Her gown was rather plain. I promised to show her some of the latest patterns," Fanny continued.

For a second, Thornton had the horrifying image of Margaret dressed in ridiculous flounces and ribbons like Fanny. He would personally rip off those fripperies and set fire to them. He loved the simplicity of Margaret's gowns. The simple cut and the demure colours became her, even though, he was beginning to realise that she was not a very demure young lady. This evening, she had not said anything to him except "Good evening, Mr Thornton" and "Good night, Mr Thornton." She had been engrossed in her book and stirred only to pour out the tea. Thornton had been glad for the peace, but vaguely disappointed. As much as he admired looking at her, he found that he liked it better when she was talking—arguing, he corrected himself.

He wondered what his mother thought of Margaret. She hadn't contributed anything to the discussion. She had earlier said that she didn't expect to like Margaret much.

"Mama, I hope you will invite the Hales to the annual dinner party," Fanny turned towards her mother.

"What do you think, John," Hannah asked without raising her head from the embroidery.

"Mother, it's your dinner party. You are the hostess and it is your guest list," Thornton said, wondering why his mother was suddenly deferring the decision to him.

"Do invite them, mama. I quite like Margaret," Fanny said. Thornton turned to look at Fanny. He couldn't for the life of him understand his sister's interest in Margaret. Margaret was not at all like her other friends. But who knew what went on in Fanny's head. He turned back to his mother.

She looked at Thornton and said, "Any friend of yours is welcome at our house. I will send out the invitation," and with that she went back to her embroidery.

That was all she was going to say but knowing his mother, Thornton understood that she must have revised her opinion of Margaret. His mother would not tolerate anyone merely for his sake. And if she thought Margaret, despite her being a mere school teacher's daughter, was good enough to attend her annual dinner party, then that was high praise indeed.


	8. Chapter 8

_It seems I am on a roll. These chapters just write themselves. I am so thankful for all the kind words and encouragement. Please do review and let me know what you think. _

_And Happy New Year!_

_Enjoy the first chapter of 2015 :)_

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><p>The next day, Margaret decided to visit Bessie and the children. Margaret had belatedly wondered where Bessie left the children when she went to work. She would like to have them over at her house during the day. But Katie told her that the children were at the mill with Bessie.<p>

Bessie had asked the overseer to allow the children to stay in the mill yard during the day. In that case, she might as well visit Fanny and Mrs Thornton, Margaret decided. Her father had told her that Mr Thornton lived right next to the mill.

Unlike the last time she was there, today the mill looked busy. There were workers with hand-drawn carts loading goods onto larger carts. A few young girls were resting against the wall. Margaret recognised Bessie among them.

"If it isn't Miss Hale," Bessie grinned and called her to join the group.

"How are you Bessie?" Margaret asked.

"Better. Are you here to meet the family?"

"Yes. But I am also here to meet you and the children," Margaret looked around. "Where are they?"

"Right there," Bessie pointed out a small shed in the corner of the yard. It didn't seem particularly safe to her. If the children were not careful they might get in the way of one of the carts.

"They will be fine," Bessie said reading her thoughts. "They have been in worse places."

"I'll go meet them," Margaret said to Bessie and walked towards the shed.

"Margie!" Ellie jumped with delight.

"How are you? Tom, Arthur," Margaret shook their little hands.

"Margie can help us" Ellie said to Tom, who was the eldest.

"Help you with what?"

"Mr Woof," Tom replied.

"What happened to Mr Woof?"

"We don't know," Ellie said.

"I saw him go in but—" said Arthur, the youngest of the children.

"You should have caught him," Tom admonished.

"But Bessie said not to go inside," Arthur said.

"Now he will be crushed by the big machine," Tom finished dramatically.

Margaret listened to this little conversation with increasing alarm. All three turned their heads and looked at her with pleading eyes. Apparently, it was now her job to rescue the dog.

"Did you tell Bessie? She can help," Margaret said.

"No!" all three said in unison.

"You brought Mr Woof without telling her? How did you—"

"We only got him today," Ellie said, "We didn't want him to be all alone all day. He doesn't like it."

"And now you have lost him. Do you now understand why Bessie said not to bring Mr Woof?" she tried to look stern but the three pulled such comically sad faces that she gave up. Margaret had no idea how to search for Mr Woof. She certainly wasn't going to go inside the mill and start looking. Bessie will have to be told. Margaret turned around to call Bessie. Surely, there must be a way to find the dog without the entire mill knowing about it. It can't be that difficult. The poor creature must most likely be cowering in some corner, frightened by all the machines and noise.

Suddenly, a shriek was heard from inside the building. It was followed by another and then another and then one more.

"What the devil!" someone shouted.

"Catch it!" yelled another followed by another ear-splitting shriek.

"What is going on? Williams!" Margaret heard Mr Thornton voice.

Oh dear, Margaret thought to herself knowing fully well the cause of the uproar.

There was commotion and loud footsteps could be heard from the building; the footsteps were headed towards the main door. Margaret, the three children, Bessie, and all the workers in the yard stood frozen, staring at the main door not knowing what to expect.

There was a moment of complete silence and then the main door was flung open and Mr Woof burst out. He was being chased by the workers. Mr Woof was entangled in yarn; he dashed out and bounded down the stairs, yarn flying behind him. The workers stopped at the door and watched Mr Woof as he ran off; a second later, Mr Thornton was at the door as well, looking like thunder. Mr Woof ran into the yard and straight towards the first familiar face that he saw. He stopped at Margaret's feet and started jumping up and down, panting. Margaret picked him up.

Margaret felt herself part of a silly tableau. On one end of the yard, stood she, clutching Mr Woof, who was still entangled in yarn, with Tom, Ellie and Arthur hiding behind her. On the other end, stood Mr Thornton with his army of workers behind him, glaring at them.

When everyone saw in clear broad daylight what it was that had caused so much uproar, an awkward silence descended upon them. One of the girls standing with Bessie giggled and immediately covered her mouth. That was all it took for the mill to erupt into a sort of disbelieving laughter.

"Get back to work, everyone," Thornton commanded. He climbed down the front stairs and headed towards Margaret. The overseer, Williams, followed him as well.

"I didn't know the children had a dog," he was saying to Mr Thornton.

Thornton didn't say anything; his eyes were fixed on Margaret.

"I'll have the dog thrown out. The children, too," Williams was saying.

"A little late for that, don't you think?" Thornton looked at Williams with annoyance. "Go inside and see if there has been any damage. The workers are more likely to break the spindles running after the dog than the creature itself. And get those frightened spinners back to work."

"Right, sir," with that Williams was gone.

Thornton looked at the children, who were cautiously peeking out behind Margaret. The eldest of them had decided to be brave and had stepped out a little. They must be Stephen's, Thornton realised. _He has two boys and a girl. Tom, Ellie and Arthur,_ Margaret had told him. He did not know that when he had allowed Williams to let the children stay in the mill yard that they had been Stephen's children. Thornton would occasionally allow his workers to keep their young children in the yard. It made sense because the workers would then not ask for the day off and the production won't suffer. The yard shed had been put up for that purpose. Thornton had agreed to the arrangement on the condition that it was Williams' responsibility to make sure that the children never wandered anywhere near the mill or obstructed work in any way.

He looked at Margaret, who he was dismayed to find was regarding him with something approaching dread. Good Lord, did she really think that he would kick the little dog for disrupting work?

"I used to have a dog when I was a young boy," Thornton said to her and reached out to take the little creature from her arms.

Margaret was so stunned by the unexpected confession that she found herself without an intelligent reply. She let Mr Thornton take the dog from her. Thornton started carefully freeing it from the yarn. Margaret couldn't help but look at Mr Thornton's hands. He had big, strong, capable hands; his fingers were long and surprising graceful. She had seen those very hands curl into fists and mercilessly beat Stephens but now, they were gentle and tender as he caressed the dog. She watched fascinated. She will have to draw his hands, she thought to herself.

"What's his name?" Thornton asked the little girl, who was no longer hiding behind the folds of Margaret's gown.

"Mr Woof," Ellie said nervously.

Thornton threw back his head and laughed at that. Margaret felt her entire world shift a little. She had never seen Mr Thornton laugh and now that she had seen it, she realised she had never seen anything so… so wonderful. The deep sound that came from his throat filled her with warmth. His entire face changed and he looked so terribly handsome and carefree. Not that Mr Thornton wasn't handsome when he wasn't laughing, but Margaret had been so busy finding faults with him that she never paid any attention to the fact. But now, she stared at him rather shamelessly.

Mr Thornton was completely engrossed in Mr Woof. He raised the dog so that it was now nose to nose with him. "Mr Woof," he peered into its tiny face and chuckled. He handed over the dog to Ellie with a smile that made Margaret's stomach flip. What was wrong with her; this was Mr Thornton—she didn't like him, she reminded herself.

"What was your dog's name, Master?" Ellie asked feeling emboldened by Thornton's smile.

"Captain," Thornton said. "Mr Woof is a good dog. You should put a lease on him so that he doesn't run away," Thornton told Tom.

Tom nodded sagely and then took Ellie's hand and the three children went back to the shed.

Thornton watched them go and then, still smiling, turned his gaze back to Margaret. It took a moment for Margaret to school her features into something other than astonishment.

"I see that I have disappointed you, Miss Hale" Thornton teased her.

Margaret to her embarrassment found that she didn't have an intelligent reply to that either.

"I have come to meet your mother and sister," she blurted out.

"The entrance to the house is from the other side," Thornton pointed out. He was oddly pleased to hear that she wanted to meet his family.

"I have also come to see how Bessie is doing," Margaret said looking at where Bessie and her group were standing.

Thornton looked in the same direction and immediately the girls stopped leaning against the wall and stood up straight. "I shall not detain you any longer then. I believe their break will be over soon," Thornton gave her a quick smile and went back into the building.

Margaret joined Bessie and the girls.

"Wonders never cease," Bessie said smiling slyly at Margaret.

"Mr Thornton used to have a dog," Margaret quickly explained lest Bessie attribute Mr Thornton's unprecedented display of good humour to her presence.

"If I'd known, we would have brought the pup sooner," Bessie said.

"Master isn't so bad," one of the younger girls in the group said.

"He is alright, I suppose," Bessie conceded.

"Papa told me that Mr Thornton has fitted the mill with some device to keep the cotton away," Margaret said.

"That's right! The wheels. Father got me work here because of them."

"Does it help?"

"It is better here than at the Watson Mill but I doesn't suppose it will cure me," Bessie said with a shrug of her shoulders.

They all fell silent; everybody knew Bessie was very ill. "I reckon it is better here than most mills," the young girl said, trying to change the subject.

"Back to work, you lot!" Williams hollered from across the yard.

"Except for that old fool," Bessie said with a smile. "You have a good visit, Miss Margaret,"

Margaret watched as Bessie and the girls disappeared inside the mill. She said good bye to the children and went round to the street to look for the door to the house. It didn't take her long; the Thornton residence was quite big and imposing. Margaret knocked at the door. It was opened by the butler.

Margaret gave her name and she was shown into the drawing room. The house was rather simply and sensibly furnished. Everything was scrupulously clean and in its place, with no sign of habitation or personality.

Fanny came down quickly. She was delighted to see her so soon and even more delighted when Margaret gave her the Dickens' novel that she had promised. Mrs Thornton joined them a few minutes later and after exchanging pleasantries was content to pour out the tea and let Fanny and Margaret talk. Fanny was now determined that Margaret must attend the concert which was to take place next week. She told her about the entire programme and who all will be attending.

"It will be an excellent introduction for Margaret to the Milton society. Don't you agree, Mama?" Fanny asked.

"Yes, dear," Hannah nodded indulgently towards her daughter.

"It's settled then. We will get Margaret on the way to the Hall. You shall come with us."

Margaret found that she had no say in the matter. But an evening spent listening to music had much to commend it, so Margaret agreed to the arrangement. After spending some more time chatting, it was time to end the visit.

As soon as Margaret returned home, she ran to her room. She took out her sketchbook and pencils and started drawing. She had been planning to draw Mr Thornton's hands but after a few minutes, she realised that his hands were not the only thing she wanted to draw. She wanted to draw him as he had looked when he had laughed. Margaret was quite accomplished at drawing portraits. She had enjoyed drawing as a young girl and had never needed a tutor. She had sketchbooks filled with pictures of her family, mostly of Fred, who the family joked was her muse (he would never sit still but Margaret knew every line of his face so that had proved to be no huddle); she drew the people she knew in Helstone, her aunt and her cousin, Edith, and Edith's husband, Capt. Lennox. She had even drawn a portrait of Mr Henry Lennox (which he had mistaken as a sign of her regard for him).

When they moved to Milton, Margaret feared that she would find nothing that would make her want to draw. But after meeting Bessie and the children, she had been inspired to take out her pencils again. But now, she was consumed with the desire to draw Mr Thornton. The fact that his laughter had been so unexpected and that it will likely not be repeated gave an urgency to the drawing. She wanted to capture it on paper before her memory faded. She sat with her pencil poised above the paper and closed her eyes to remember his laugh. Her stomach tightened at the memory much as it had when she had witnessed it. Somewhat breathless and with tingling fingers and knots in her stomach, Margaret began drawing Mr Thornton.


	9. Chapter 9

Thank you, thank you, thank you so much for the kind words and for liking the story. Your feedback gives me all the motivation and encouragement that I need.

In this chapter, I have introduced Ann Latimer and yes, like Fanny, she is quite different from the book/TV series.

Hope you enjoy this new chapter and let me know what you think!

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><p>Margaret's life had settled into a sort of routine. She would spend most of the mornings helping with the household chores—ironing and folding the laundry, mending the linen, chopping vegetables. Dixon would have perished on the spot if she had seen Margaret perform any of these menial tasks; which is why Richard Hale thought it best to send Dixon to London, where she now lived with her sister. It had not been an easy task; Dixon had protested against moving Margaret to Milton so vehemently that her father had to remind Dixon that Margaret was his daughter and he knew what was best for her. Dixon had responded with the mightiest scowl in all of Christendom.<p>

But in the end, Mr Hale had prevailed. As much as Margaret loved Dixon, she loved her new found independence even more. But Dixon had unknowing taught her well. Margaret found that she knew what was expected of her as the mistress of the house and she enjoyed her position very much. Both hers and her father's needs were quite simple; Margaret had never understood the fuzz that Dixon made about running the house like a drill sergeant or haranguing the servants till they shook with fear every time you entered the kitchen. Margaret was proud that her household was a cheerful place and that even the ever-complaining cook had been won over.

On some days, in the afternoon, she would go to the mill to meet her friends. The lines on Bessie's face was slowly starting to deepen, her body was racked by the occasional painful cough, but her smile was still as serene and still as impish. The children regaled her with the new games that they had devised; and Mr Woof, now with a lease on him, proved himself very well-behaved. She didn't see Mr Thornton again at the mill except once when she caught him looking at her from the window. He had nodded to acknowledge her presence and then stepped away from the window.

After meeting Bessie, Margaret would drop by the Thornton residence to visit Fanny. The contrast between the two worlds was so sharp, it made Margaret feel as though someone had changed the scenery behind her just as in the plays that she had seen in London. More than just the scenery, it's almost as if I have stepped into another play, Margaret thought. While her conversations with Bessie mostly revolved around the strike and the condition of the workers; her conversations with Fanny were about music, books and clothes and in that order. Fanny had proved to be a delightful companion, talking nineteen to the dozen. She preferred light-hearted novels, novel of adventure and intrigue and had no patience for poems. On other afternoons, Margaret would remain at home and read or write letters to her cousin describing her new life in Milton.

The evenings were spent in the company of her father and Mr Thornton. After their big quarrel and the subsequent revelations made by her father about Mr Thornton's act of kindness towards them, Margaret thought it best to play the gracious, dutiful hostess as her father and Mr Thornton talked of literature, politics and the impending strike. She had another reason as well; by retiring to a corner with her book, she was able to observe Mr Thornton unnoticed.

Drawing from memory alone had proved to be rather difficult even for someone as skilled as her; Margaret had abandoned the sketch in frustration. She had managed to put on paper some broad strokes to indicate the shape of his head and his eyes, nose and mouth. To her annoyance, she found that she did not know his features in sufficient detail to continue. Still, the few lines that she had drawn were accurate and if anyone had seen those tentative lines, there would be no doubt in their minds as to whose likeness they were.

After a few days of surreptitiously studying Mr Thornton's face, Margaret had to concede that he was a remarkably handsome man. His blue eyes were deep-set and clear. They were framed by straight brow, which fell low over his eyes. He had a high forehead; a sharp, prominent nose; and the lines of his jaws were well-defined. His lips were less full; the top lip was bow shaped but the bottom lip appeared almost full when his mouth was relaxed. She looked and committed the details to memory and then in her room, at night, she would practice the feature that she had studied that evening. She was now able to draw him with a fair degree of success. But the laughter eluded her. Her memory of his laugh had not entirely faded, but it was getting blurry around the edges. Yet it had lost none of its power with regard to its effect on her.

One day as she was absorbed in studying the lines around his mouth, she was jolted to find it arrange itself in a sneering, almost cruel line. Her father and Mr Thornton were discussing the workers and their cause. Of course, Margaret thought grimly.

"They think they can dictate to us. What do they know of trade? They think the trade is the same as last year. They think we are being unreasonable in refusing them the same wages. The fools are now threatening to go on strike. You would have thought they would be satisfied with demanding the same wages as last year but no! They have it in their heads that they deserve a five percent raise as well," Mr Thornton was saying.

"Why don't you tell them that the trade is bad?" Margaret asked. It was the most obvious question and Margaret couldn't stop herself from asking it. Margaret immediately looked at her father apologetically; her father had made it clear that he held Mr Thornton in some esteem and she did not wish to upset him by quarrelling with his friend again.

"You took the words out of my mouth, Maggie," Mr Hale said smiling encouragingly at Margaret. When he had asked her to not judge Mr Thornton harshly, he had not desired for her to stop speaking to him entirely. He turned to Thornton, "Why can't you tell them that the business is not that same as last year? Surely if you explained to your workers, are they not likely to withdraw their demand?"

Thornton had been startled to hear Margaret voice. These last couple of days he had been exceedingly puzzled by her restrained manner. He had been thinking of ways to drawn her into the conversations but had been afraid of showing interest, especially with Mr Hale present. But now that the old Margaret was back, it made perfect sense that it would be in the defence of the workers.

"We had tried explaining to them in the past. But they won't believe us. They would rather believe the union leaders. They think that we Masters are busy filling our pockets while leaving them out to starve. It's fruitless to reason with them."

"But is it fair to lump them all together? Are all of them so unreasoning and prejudiced against the Masters?"

"Perhaps not all; but those few do not matter. It is the union that we deal with and the union men are not at all inclined to give us Masters the benefit of doubt. They do not wish to hear of the difficulties that we face; the economising and efficiencies that we have to think about. It's easier for them to think of us as their arch nemesis and the cause of all their sufferings."

"But have not the Masters also made it easy for them to think so? If you cannot increase their wages, then are there not other ways to help them? Perhaps by taking an interest in their lives, by advising them how to spend their money."

"Miss Hale, this is where you do not know the North," Thornton said with a smile. "Here in North, we value our independence. I assure you that my taking an interest in how they spend their money will be regarded as the worst sort of insult and meddling."

"What about simple acts of compassion?"

"Milton men have too much pride to accept charity from the very men they believe are responsible for their suffering. The only compassion and kindness I can show them is by running the mill as efficiently as I can. If I fail in this duty, the workers will cease to have an income."

"Is there no way then to stop this conflict, this hostility?"

"If there is a way, I do not know of it. And I certainly don't see it happening in my lifetime," Thornton said with an air of resignation.

Margaret had been glad that her father was present during this conversation. Initially, it was out of regard for him that she stopped herself from interrupting Mr Thornton at various points during his speech. But later she had been glad that she held her tongue. Whatever she knew of the strike was gathered from Bessie who was mostly repeating her father thoughts and opinions; as for the workers' condition, she had the evidence of her own eyes. Margaret had been to the Princeton district enough times and had spoken to a few of Bessie's neighbours; her heart broke at the sadness and deprivation that she had seen there. But now listening to Mr Thornton explain the Master's side of the story and the economics behind the wages and the decisions had been sobering. She had been ready to condemn the Masters as unfeeling and cruel but she was now beginning to understand some of the Master's dilemma and challenges.

She wondered why no one would see what she saw so clearly. How could two classes of people dependent on each other in every possible way, regard the interests of the other as opposed to their own? She felt as though she was standing at the midway point between the Master and the workers, able to see what each party refused to see but too inconsequential to change anything.

But tonight, as she sat in front of her mirror, she did not want to burden her heart and mind by thinking about the fate of the people of Milton. Tonight was for music; tonight was the night of the concert and Fanny will soon arrive to take her along. Margaret had a few evening and dinner gowns that she and Aunt Shaw had got made during her last visit to London. Aunt Shaw had an exceptional eye and judgement when it came to matters of style and Margaret had benefitted greatly from following her advice.

The gown that Margaret had chosen to wear to the concert was a simple and elegant full dress in a very pale pink with ivory tulle and lace around the skirt bottom and the neck. She also wore gloves of the same colour and an opera cloak that Aunt Shaw had insisted that all proper young ladies should wear when attending an opera or concert. After a final look in the mirror and an enthusiastic nod of approval from Katie, Margaret went downstairs to wait for Fanny.

Her father was seated in the armchair by the fire and he looked up when she entered. "Ah!" that was all he said but the warm, proud look in his face conveyed more than any words could.

"Papa, I hope you won't spend the entire night here in this chair," Margaret said looking at the milk and the small dinner that was set out on a stool next to the armchair. Her father had finally remembered to tell her that Mr Thornton will not be coming to read with him today and had asked for a simple, early dinner which he can eat snuggled by the fire.

"Don't worry about me; I will be fine. There is still some life in these old bones," Mr Hale said.

They heard the sound of a carriage approach and stop outside their door.

"Good night, Papa and don't stay up late," she said giving him a kiss.

"Have a good time, Maggie."

Margaret went outside and saw Fanny looking out from the window. When the footman stepped down to open the carriage door and help her in, Margaret realised with a sinking heart that Mr Thornton was absent. When her father had told her that Mr Thornton was not coming to read tonight, she had assumed that it meant that he will be accompanying his sister and mother to the concert. She tried to hide her disappointed. But once inside the carriage, she realised that Fanny was the only occupant; Mrs Thornton was absent as well.

"Mrs Thornton is not coming?" Margaret asked.

"No. Mother doesn't really care for concerts. Besides she wanted to wait up for John when he returns from the manufacturer's meeting," Fanny said with a sad shrug.

As Margaret looked at Fanny, a sudden realisation came to her that Fanny was actually lonely. She hadn't yet seen the brother and sister together but whenever Fanny spoke of Mr Thornton there was none of the playful, warm tone with which Margaret would always speak of Fred. Mrs Thornton clearly indulged her daughter but she was not the kind of lady to show much warmth or one for much conversation. And Fanny was all about conversation.

"All they every do is talk about the mill and the workers and the wages and the strike and the cotton. Deadly boring," Fanny folded her arms and pouted. "I don't even like cotton. I prefer silk," Fanny said.

Before Margaret could say anything, Fanny had started talking about the silk gown that she planned to wear to the dinner and so the two girls spent the ride talking about clothes.

The Hall was a modest-sized building where musical concerts and scientific lectures took place. Tonight, the entrance was brightly lit and the place wore a festive look. Margaret and Fanny stepped down from the carriage, checked their cloaks and shawls and with Fanny clutching Margaret's hand entered the large waiting area. Fanny twisted her head this way and that to find Miss Latimer.

"There she is!" Fanny said waving in the direction of a young woman.

Ann Latimer was quite a pretty young girl with delicate features and a mass of blonde hair piled atop her head. Like Fanny, she was dressed in the latest fashion and carried a beautiful fan. As Fanny and Margaret approached her, Margaret saw Ann give her an assessing look.

Ann had not been able to get a very good look at Margaret when she had seen her walking with Mr Thornton that day. She couldn't believe that the usually reserved and aloof Mr Thornton was walking with a young lady and that he seemed quite attentive to her. She had met Mr Thornton a couple of times and had given him her most winning smile but all she got was a "Good day, Miss Latimer." Ann was now determined that Mr Thornton should take note of her and a friendship with Fanny was the most logical step in that direction. Which is why she had been rather vexed with Fanny's growing friendship with Margaret. Ann had tried to obtain as much information from her about Margaret; she was told that Margaret was pretty, friendly, liked to read and wore rather simple gowns. Ann dismissed the "pretty" bit as not terribly relevant; her vanity would not allow her to believe that Margaret could be more beautiful than her. The bit about the "simple gowns" had made Ann quite happy; after all, a school teacher's daughter would not be able to afford the same fashion as the daughter of a wealthy banker. And a fashionable wardrobe, according to Ann, was half the battle won.

Ann had been preparing to triumph over Miss Hale tonight but the woman Fanny introduced to her was not only stunningly beautiful but the dress that she was wearing, though not the latest fashion, was undeniably pretty and looked expensive.

I will have to rethink my strategy, Ann though as she smiled serenely at Margaret.


	10. Chapter 10

_Back with another chapter!_

_Please keep the reviews and comments coming. You guys are so, so kind and supportive, even though the direction I am taking this story is very non-canon. _

_Hope you like this chapter!_

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><p>She doesn't like me, was Margaret's first thought upon being introduced to Ann Latimer. It was her smile, Margaret decided. It didn't reach her eyes. That and the slight air of superiority with which she was regarding Margaret.<p>

"Now that I can see it properly, it _is_ divine," Fanny said looking at Margaret's gown.

"Indeed," Ann said. "Although I don't recall seeing this pattern in any of this year's books."

"You won't find that pattern anywhere. It was made at Madame Emeraude's modiste!" Fanny said hoping Ann would be greatly impressed.

Ann made no comment.

"In London! Can you imagine that?" Fanny practically shouted in delight.

"Not at all," Ann said looking at Margaret.

While Fanny's barely suppressed joy stemmed from the fact that she was beholding a gown made at the most fashionable modiste in London, Ann's barely disguised surprise stemmed from the fact that the daughter of a schoolteacher could afford to get her dress made at the most fashionable modiste in London. Neither reactions nor the cause of them was lost on Margaret.

"You have relations in London?" Ann enquired politely.

"Yes, my aunt lives there."

"Hanover Square," Fanny said in hushed reverential tones.

"Of course," Ann gave Margaret a condescending little smile. Margaret understood at once that Ann saw her as the poor relation and the gown as an act of charity by a rich aunt.

Margaret wished she could tell the snooty Miss Latimer that the gown was not an act of charity. Aunt Shaw may be wealthy but she regarded Margaret as her own daughter and had never treated her any differently than Edith. Her father might now be a mere schoolteacher but he used to be the clergyman in Helstone and Helstone was quite a large parish and they had lived very comfortably and were nobody's poor relation.

Instead, Margaret found herself doing what she did when she was annoyed, she smiled tightly at Ann, turned on her heel and went straight towards the refreshment table. A glass of cool lemonade should help calm her down.

How in the world were Fanny and Ann friends, Margaret wondered. Fanny did not have one mean bone in her body; she had a childlike enthusiasm and honesty, but Fanny was also somewhat self-absorbed and oblivious to a lot of things. That's the only way to explain her friendship with Ann, Margaret realised.

"Seeking refuge?" a familiar voice asked her.

Margaret turned around and found Andrew Webster smiling at her.

"Miss Hale," he bowed.

"Mr Webster," Margaret smiled back at him. She had enjoyed his company when he had walked her home after the disastrous first meeting with Mr Thornton.

"So was I right?" he asked getting himself a glass as well.

"Well, yes," she said. "But not from Miss Thornton," she quickly added.

"I never doubted that," he said looking at Fanny who was engrossed in a conversation with Ann.

"We have become rather good friends," Margaret said. "It was her idea that I should attend the concert as an introduction to Milton society."

"And how do you find Milton society?"

Margaret wondered if she should tell him the truth. Her brief conversation with Mr Webster had left her with a favourable impression of him. He had acted a gentleman and had quickly put her at ease and managed to make her laugh. It had helped her briefly forget the violence that she had witnessed at the mill that day. But most of all, Mr Webster reminded her of Fred. They looked nothing alike but Mr Webster had the same easy manner and laugh that Fred had. But easy-going or not, he couldn't possibly understand how Milton society was likely to view her—if Miss Latimer was any indication—and how it made her feel.

"Miss Hale, in case you are wondering if I will be offended by an honest answer then please do not worry on that account. I am no more from the North than you are," Andrew said with a grin.

Seeing the astonished look on Margaret's face, he continued, "I am from Wiltshire. I came to Milton three years ago."

"Then I shall not hold back," Margaret recovered and replied with a cheeky grin.

"But I should warn you that they do consider me one of their own now."

"Ah, but a gentleman would never betray a confidence."

"You have me there, Miss Hale," Andrew conceded with a laugh. "But do tell me, what do you make of Milton?"

"I suppose I could say the obvious that it is as different from the South as can possibly be," Margaret said. "It is cold and harsh. It is all smoke and money. I have never seen so much suffering and conflict and unkindness. Sometimes, I think God has forsaken this place."

Andrew listened to her speech in silence. Margaret didn't realise where the words had come from. She had meant to say something witty but found herself giving an honest but brutal answer.

"I am sorry. I didn't mean to say such a terrible thing," Margaret flustered.

"No, Miss Hale. I believe you have spoken the truth. The truth as you see it. But it is not the only truth. Milton is also a place of change, of progress. A man can build a fortune here; he can rise and grow in the esteem of his fellowmen. Here, who you are or where you came from does not matter; we are, most of us here, self-made," Andrew said.

"You sound like Mr Thornton," Margaret couldn't help but point out.

"Is that a bad thing? I hope you do not think unkindly of him. He is one of the best men I have met. He took me under his wing, so to speak. I came to Milton with nothing and he took a chance on me; taught me business, gave me opportunities. I do not know of many men who would show such kindness to a stranger."

Andrew spoke with such honest admiration for Mr Thornton that Margaret felt she owed him an explanation.

"You mistake me, Mr Webster. I know Mr Thornton is a good man but I do wish he would show the workers some kindness. He tells us that he cannot help them but surely there must be a way. I do not understand business or the running of a mill but what good is any of it if it cannot aid a fellow human."

"Mr Thornton has done more for his workers than any Master. He will of course not admit it but I can assure you of that. Why the wheels that he has put inside the mill cost him quite a sum. The other mill owners would never allow such an expense. If that is not kindness then what is?"

Margaret felt mortified at once again being caught judging Mr Thornton unfairly. But how was she to know of this side of him. Didn't Mr Thornton himself say that he couldn't afford compassion; didn't he always present himself as a businessman first. She had heard him speak endlessly of business and good business sense with her father. He had politely but firmly refused her father's suggestion of arranging his workers to attend evening classes. He still refused to believe that talking to his workers and explaining things to them would make any positive difference. And he absolutely refused to take Stephens back.

When Margaret didn't say anything, Mr Webster continued smoothly, "But please, do not tell him that I told you this. He will dismiss me on the spot if he finds out that I have been disparaging his great business sense in public."

"Of course, you can trust me to not—" Margaret stopped when she realised that Mr Webster was grinning at her.

Margaret smiled back at him with sudden affection. God, he was so much like Fred. Her eyes almost misted over. She also knew in that instant that Mr Webster had no designs on her and that he regarded her as no more than a friend.

From the other end of the room, Ann had been watching Margaret and Mr Webster talking. She noted that they seemed to be getting along quite well. Ann smiled to herself.

"I say, isn't Mr Webster from the South?" Ann asked, her eyes still on the couple.

Fanny turned around to look at them as well. "Wiltshire, I think," Fanny said.

"Ah!" Ann said and then after a significant pause added, "No wonder."

Fanny whipped her head back to Ann. "You think—"

"What do _you_ think?" Ann said gently turning Fanny around so that she could once again see the couple.

It was clear that Margaret and Mr Webster were enjoying each other's company. Mr Webster was telling her something and Margaret was listening with a smile on her face. But that was nothing unusual. Fanny knew Mr Webster quite well and she knew that he was always friendly and quite charming with the ladies. Her mother didn't particularly like him but John trusted him and the two had formed a sort of friendship, even though John was his employer. Mr Webster had always been able to make her laugh and like her, he was very fond of music. Now watching Mr Webster and Margaret laugh, Fanny wondered if there was more to it as Ann was suggesting. Fanny started to walk towards them but Ann pulled her back.

"Really Fanny! You should leave them alone," Ann said with a knowing smile.

"But—" Fanny began.

"Didn't Mr Webster himself seek her out?" Ann interrupted. Fanny was proving surprisingly resistant to the idea of Margaret and Mr Webster.

Fanny received this bit of information in silence. Well, that is certainly interesting. Mr Webster would have ideally greeted her first but if he had singled out Margaret then perhaps, Ann was right. But just then, Margaret suddenly looked at her and smiled and a second later, Fanny saw both Margaret and Mr Webster heading in their direction.

"Miss Thornton," Mr Webster took her hand and dropped a kiss on her knuckles.

"Miss Latimer," he bowed.

"It was very thoughtful of you to bring Miss Hale tonight," Mr Webster said to Fanny.

"I was telling Miss Thornton exactly that. It is wonderful to see Miss Hale make new friends," Ann said smiling sweetly.

Andrew looked at Miss Latimer in surprise. This must be the first time she had spoken to a full sentence to him. He had met her a few times and on each occasions she had done no more than briefly nod in his general direction. She was a spoiled rich Miss who considered herself the queen of Milton society. When he had seen Miss Hale walk away after exchanging a few words with Miss Latimer, he was quite sure what must have happened. But now Miss Latimer was smiling at him and Andrew had the uneasy feeling that he had unknowingly done or said something that made her very happy. If he knew what it was, he would make sure never to do it again. But presently, he turned his attention back to the Miss Thornton.

"I think they have opened the door to the chamber. I am sure you will want to sit in the front," he said to Fanny.

"Yes, let's go. I hate to sit in the back," Fanny said, for the moment forgetting all about Margaret and Mr Webster.

Margaret not wanting to spend another moment in the company of Miss Latimer quickly agreed to Mr Webster's suggestion and the three made their way into the recital chamber, with Ann trailing behind them. Ann overlooked the slight; the little fools were falling right into her plan and she couldn't be happier.

Fanny, Margaret and Ann sat in the front row and Andrew, after securing them seats, sat in the back row. With so many of Milton's influential crowd eying seats in the front rows, he knew better than to upset them by claiming one of the coveted seats.

As the performance began, Margaret found that she was not able to pay any attention to the music. Her mind was busy trying to reconcile the different accounts that she had heard of Mr Thornton and her own feelings about him. That he was a fair and good Master seems to be the universal opinion and she was willing to concede that that was most likely true. But she had never once heard him speak of the workers with sympathy. He seemed to believe that if they were poor and miserable, then it is their own fault. This lack of sympathy bothered Margaret deeply. She knew that he didn't really approve of her friendship with Bessie or her visits to the Princeton district. He never said anything—after all, he had no right to tell her how to live her life—but she could sense his disapproval and that annoyed her. Besides, if Margaret were to be honest with herself, it was better for her to not like Mr Thornton.

Margaret was still alarmed by her own reactions and traitorous feelings to his physical presence. She wished with all her heart that she wasn't so aware of him whenever he was around. But Mr Thornton was the kind of man who was very difficult to overlook. He was tall, powerfully built and carried himself with such pride and dignity that he was bound to attract notice wherever he went. And as if that wasn't enough, he had to be devastatingly handsome as well. Drat the man! Even now, when he was not around, she couldn't stop thinking about him. The disappointment she felt at his absence tonight still refused to go away. Why should it be so, she wondered. After all, she saw him practically every day; one day without Mr Thornton ought to be a reprieve. And yet, she missed him. Him, of all people! He, who always provoked her and argued with her, who always looked at her with that intense gaze, who always showed up when she least expected it, who always made her feel—I really need to stop, Margaret suddenly thought with exasperation. She realised that she had no idea what piece was being played; this is really beyond the pale. Looking at the program in her hand and mentally admonishing herself, she firmly turned her attention to the music.

The rest of the hour passed by quickly. When the performance was over, all three along with Mr Webster moved to the entrance and collected their cloaks and shawls. As they waited for the carriage, they talked about the performance, but only Fanny and Mr Webster showed any real enthusiasm. Margaret, despite her resolve to pay attention to the performance, had failed rather miserably. She had not noticed half of the things that Fanny was talking about. Drat the man, Margaret thought again not caring that she was being quite unfair. Right now, she just wanted to get home and be in her bed and let sleep claim her; she was exhausted with her own runaway thoughts and the effort it took to keep them in check.

But all her hopes were dashed—or fulfilled, Margaret wasn't sure which—when Ann Latimer suddenly exclaimed, "Oh, look! Mr Thornton is here!"

Drat the man, indeed!


	11. Chapter 11

The manufacturer's meeting had ended much earlier than Thornton expected. All the mill owners had unanimously agreed to reject the worker's demands. Last week, they had all received a notice sent by the worker's union which contained a list of their demands. Most of the items in the list were already known to the owners. All that remained was for them to take a formal decision and communicate it to the union.

Thornton had presided over the meeting and read out the list; they all agreed that the demands were preposterous and had been made at the worst possible time. They had no option but to refuse them. But unlike the previous times, the workers were quite determined under the leadership of Nicholas Higgins and his gang. The owners wanted to discuss ways to break the strike but Thornton already had a plan ready. He would wait two weeks and if the hands did not return to work, he would bring in the Irish workers. The other owners had thought that the move was rather unusual but if anyone could pull it off, John Thornton was the man.

The only sceptical man in the room was old Smithers. "I hope you are not seriously contemplating it, Thornton," Smithers had asked him when they were alone.

"I am perfectly serious," Thornton did not like having his judgement questioned.

"It could set them on the edge. I wouldn't advice it. But if you are determined to do it, on your own head be it," Smithers had said.

Thornton had mulled over that for a bit but he was not a man to have doubts. He was aware of the risks and he intended to take necessary precautions. In any case, once his mind was made up, it was made up.

But now with the meeting over, he realised that he had quite a bit of time on his hands. He could go home or he could go to the concert. He consulted his pocket watch and realised that by the time he made it to the Hall, the concert would be over. But it wasn't the music that he cared about. He wanted to see Margaret and if it meant acting completely out of character, dashing halfway through the town, then so be it.

Thornton grabbed his overcoat and hastened outside. He walked quickly and in twenty minutes, he reached the Hall.

He knew it was her the moment his eyes caught a slim figure clad in a cloak. She was facing away from him, but he could see her raise a gloved hand to brush away an errant curl. No one moved her hands quite as elegantly or delicately as Margaret. He should know. By now, he had memorised the way she poured the tea, how she pushed back the bracelet that kept falling to her wrist, how she turned the pages of her book and how she covered her mouth with the back of her hand when she yawned.

Margaret was standing with Fanny and Andrew and one of Fanny's friends—Miss Latimer, was that her name? He wasn't sure. Margaret still had her back to him. Thornton was mentally preparing what he would say to explain his unexpected appearance, especially to Fanny who would no doubt wonder aloud about it, but all his thoughts were halted when Fanny's friend shrieked:

"Oh, look! Mr Thornton is here!"

Three heads turned towards him, wearing an identical look of surprise.

"John, what are you doing here?" Fanny asked coming forward.

"Escorting you home," Thornton said, making it sound as though it was perfectly normal behaviour for him.

For once, Fanny was utterly speechless and Thornton took advantage of that to walk past her and greet the others.

"How lovely to see you, Mr Thornton," Ann said and thrust her hand at him. Thornton took the proffered hand and gave it a quick kiss.

Margaret simply nodded "Mr Thornton."

Andrew shook his hand and asked "So is it decided then?"

"Yes," Thornton said. Seeing the look of confusion on Margaret's face, Thornton explained, "The strike. You will see Milton without smoke in a few days, Miss Hale."

"I would rather see Milton without suffering," Margaret said quietly.

"Surely you don't sympathise with the hands, Miss Hale" Ann asked with a disapproving look on her face. "I wish the Masters would teach the hands a good lesson this time. They are a lazy, ungrateful pack."

"And you speak about them from personal experience?" Margaret had just about enough of Ann Latimer.

"Me? Personal experience? Why would I—" Ann tried to laugh it off.

"I didn't think so," Margaret said cutting her off.

"And do you speak about them from personal experience?" Ann asked, her eyes narrowing.

"Actually, I do. Perhaps, you can accompany me to the mill during the lunch break or take a stroll through Princeton," Margaret suggested with a deadpan face.

Ann was stunned into silence. Andrew looked like he was choking back his laughter. And Thornton, even though he absolutely disapproved of Margaret wandering around the Princeton district, couldn't help a little smile.

"I would like to come with you to Princeton. It will be like in Mr Dickens' novels," Fanny said eagerly.

"You shall do no such thing," Thornton said sharply to Fanny.

"But Margaret has been there plenty of times; I am sure it is perfectly safe," Fanny said looking at Margaret for support.

"Safe?" Thornton quirked an eyebrow at Margaret.

"Yes, it is," Margaret knew it wasn't _perfectly_ safe but Mr Thornton's overbearing manner was simply too much and she couldn't help but cross him. Besides, it _was_ safe, just not perfectly safe.

"See! And since we obviously won't be going after dark—I imagine that would not be very safe or very proper—I don't see why I can't accompany Margaret," Fanny said triumphantly.

"Fanny, I forbid it," Thornton glared at Fanny.

"That's not fair. Margaret gets to go but I don't," Fanny sulked.

"It's for your own safety," Thornton pointed out.

"Then stop her as well," Fanny cried out.

"Fanny," Thornton warned in a low voice, his patience growing thin.

"Oh, I've got it," Fanny brightened suddenly, ignoring Thornton's darkening mood. "You can come with us. You will have the entire day to yourself when the workers go on strike. We'll certainly be safe with you."

Andrew cleared his throat. "I am not sure it will be safe for him to be seen anywhere near Princeton during the strike."

"Exactly, but if Miss Hale is so keen on visiting then perhaps you can accompany her," Ann said smiling encouragingly at Andrew.

This is really too much now. "No one is going anywhere," Thornton said in his most authoritative voice. And just for good measure, he looked hard at everyone, making sure that they understood him perfectly.

"Even Mr Webster? You cannot forbid him. He can go and do as he plea—" Fanny stopped when she realised that her brother was taking a deep breath to calm himself. He looked ready to explode. She gulped.

"The carriage is here!" Andrew said to Fanny's and everyone's relief.

"About time!" Thornton said with great feeling.

It was Ann's carriage. Ann didn't want to leave Mr Thornton alone with Margaret. She had noticed how Mr Thornton had looked admiringly at Margaret. And she was still smarting from Margaret's put-down; she would pay her back in good time. But the blasted carriage was here and there was no excuse that she could make to wait back. She made her farewells.

"Mr Webster," she nodded at him; "Miss Hale," she said tightly.

She gave a dainty little hug to Fanny. "Good night, Fanny. I will come by tomorrow," she said and then allowed Thornton to help her into the carriage.

"Good night, Mr Thornton," she said huskily.

"Good night, Miss—" Thornton paused for a millisecond, "—Latimer" he said hoping to God that that was her name.

Ann pretended to not notice it and gave him a charming smile. She was rewarded for her tact with a grateful smile from Mr Thornton.

You certainly catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, Ann thought to herself. Margaret had a rather sharp tongue and Ann knew that men did not like such women, no matter how beautiful they may be. Ann settled comfortably in her carriage and congratulated herself on finally making an impression on Mr Thornton.

A moment later, Thornton's carriage rolled out. Thornton helped Fanny and Margaret climb in.

"Mr Webster, won't you come along," Fanny asked.

"It's a fine night. I prefer to walk. Good night, Miss Thornton," he bowed smartly.

"I hope we meet again soon" Andrew said with a warm smile to Margaret and after a nod to Thornton, he was off.

Margaret sat opposite Fanny and Mr Thornton. Fanny was uncharacteristically quiet, but with good reason. Margaret felt guilty about encouraging Fanny; she wondered if Mr Thornton thought her a bad influence on his sister. She had wanted to see the brother and sister together, but it was clear that Mr Thornton acted more like a father than a brother. If Fred had ever tried that tone with her, she would have boxed his ears. But Fred was only two years older than her, while Mr Thornton must be almost ten years Fanny's senior. Still, Fanny clearly needed a brother, someone who would tease her, guide her and dote on her. Even now, she was looking nervously at Mr Thornton.

"Did you enjoy the concert, Miss Hale?" Mr Thornton asked abruptly.

"Yes, very much. Although, I think it is Fanny who has a greater appreciation of music," Margaret attempted to reconcile the brother and sister.

"Hummm" was all that Mr Thornton said.

"There is another concert planned next month. You'll come, won't you?" Fanny asked Margaret.

"Of course," Margaret said and then "Mr Thornton, won't you accompany Fanny?"

"When is it?" Thornton asked Fanny.

"They haven't yet announced the date, but it will be next month," Fanny said looking hopefully at her brother.

"I can't promise but I shall try," Thornton said. Who knew if the strike will be over by then. Nothing was certain at the moment.

"Did you really come to take me home tonight? Wasn't Mama waiting for you?" Fanny asked.

"The meeting ended earlier than expected," Thornton wasn't going to lie to Fanny about his real reason but at least that much was true.

"I am happy you came, although I am sure you regret it now," Fanny said contritely, hoping very much that John would contradict her.

"You want me to say that that is not true, isn't it?" Thornton saw right through her. "Even though you argued with me and defied me in public?"

"I wasn't that bad."

"You were exactly that bad."

"That's because you are too bossy."

"You are doing it again."

"Humph" Fanny sat back crossing her arms. Margaret stifled a giggle. That got her a look from Fanny.

"It's because you don't have a brother," Fanny said to Margaret.

"I—" Margaret opened her mouth to tell her that's not true but immediately fell silent.

Thornton noticed that and wondered what she was about to say. It was unlike Margaret to hold back her thoughts. But before he could ask her, the carriage came to a stop.

Thornton stepped down first to help Margaret out. He was seized by a sudden desire to kiss her hand as he bid her good night. When Margaret tried to remove her hand from his after stepping out, she was surprised to find that he refused to let go.

"Good night, Miss Hale," he said and planted a firm kiss on her hand.

She blushed to the roots of her hair.

"Good night, Mr Thornton," Margaret barely got out the words.

Thornton reluctantly released her hand and watched her as she quickly climbed the steps and after a final look at him, closed the door.

Once inside, Margaret stood with her back pressed against the door. She heard the carriage leave. She didn't realise that she had been holding her breath. Margaret looked at her hand as if she expected it to catch fire. It wasn't as though no one had ever kissed her hand and it wasn't as though her hand had been bare, she had been wearing a glove. But his kiss had burned right through the fabric. The kiss was a good deal more than what was considered appropriate. Even Henry had not tried such a thing and he had been quite persistent even after she had rejected him. Margaret wondered what it would be like to have Mr Thornton as a suitor.

And with that thought, any hope that Margaret had about a good night's sleep flew right out of the window.


	12. Chapter 12

_**A/N**__: Enjoy! :D_

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><p>Hannah Thornton was not very pleased when she found out that John had decided to go to the Hall instead of coming straight home. She knew that it was Miss Hale that John had gone to see. Hannah didn't have any particular objections to Miss Hale, but it vexed her no end that even at a time like this, with the strike almost upon them, John paid so much attention to the girl.<p>

She looked at her son who was sitting quietly by the fire, sipping his nightly brandy. Thornton was reliving the evening and wondering if he had been too forward with Margaret with that kiss. He knew that a gentleman would not have acted thus, but he had been powerless against the overwhelming urge. She hadn't flinched or resisted; she had looked surprised and blushed in a most becoming way. Did she realise how deeply and strongly he felt for her? She occupied his every single waking thought; it was a wonder he got any work done at all. He would count the hours till it was time for his evening visit to Mr Hale. And each time she looked lovelier than he remembered. Thornton had never been in love and now that he was, he surrendered himself to it fully. He felt young and gloriously happy; not even the impending strike could dampen his mood.

"John, do you care for Miss Hale?" Hannah asked without much of a preamble.

Thornton wasn't terribly surprised. He knew that it was a mere matter of time before his mother guessed at his feelings but he didn't think it would be so soon. She hadn't even seen him with Miss Hale—well, he supposed mothers always divined such matters.

"Yes, I do," he answered.

"And does she return your regard?"

"I don't know. I don't believe so," he said quietly.

The truth was that he wanted to win her over, he wanted to woo her. But it was not going to be an easy task. Their conversations were always a few words away from a disagreement—Margaret had firm opinions about things, her loyalty was to the workers and she had a temper that matched his own. Although these past few days, they had settled into a tentative friendship of sorts, mostly mediated by her father whose presence kept both their tempers in check, the fact remained that it was Margaret. And she was no ordinary girl. She was beautiful, regal, sophisticated and belonged in the best societies, while he—he was just a big, rough fellow from Milton.

He could hear his mother's disapproving silence. Oddly, it felt as though it was directed at him instead of Margaret and that snapped him out if his self-pity. When did he become so fainthearted? This was one of the most important decisions of his life; it was not the time to think and act like a timid schoolboy.

"That is, not yet," he said with the Northern determination.

"She is a sensible girl, I don't see why she wouldn't," Hannah said smugly.

Thornton didn't want Margaret to accept him because it was the sensible thing to do. He didn't want a marriage of convenience with Margaret. He wanted her to accept him because she loved him, because she burned for him just as he burned for her. Anything less would devastate him.

"She may not see me the way you do," Thornton pointed out.

"Bah! Then she is a fool."

Thornton rose from his chair and stood next to his mother, giving her a half hug. To hear her talk, one would think that he was a prince. He looked down at what his mother was writing. It was invitations to the annual dinner.

"Do you think we should cancel it? It's such an expense," Hannah said.

"No. We'll have the dinner same as last year. Nothing will change," he said.

"When do you think they will strike," Hannah asked.

"In a day. Two."

"Or maybe they will come to their senses," Hannah snorted.

Thornton doubted that would happen. And he was right. The union had expected the Masters to reject their demands. Higgins called a meeting of all the workers the next night. Their decision was easily made. The strike will begin tomorrow. If any of the Masters agreed to raise the wages, the workers must report it to the union but they must not accept it. This strike was for all the workers in Milton and against all the Masters. There should be no violence, no damage to any of the machines. The Masters need to understand that this time they were dealing with thinking men not mindless hordes.

The next evening, at ten minutes to five, Thornton heard the looms fall silent one by one. He stepped out of his office and saw the workers walk out quietly but defiantly.

It has begun, Thornton thought grimly.

Milton was indeed without smoke, Margaret noted. But it had also become very quiet as though the city was patiently waiting for a resolution. Margaret went to meet Bessie. She had hoped to see Nicholas Higgins but was surprised to find that he was not at home but at the alehouse.

"To calm them down. Help them keep their heads," Bessie explained. "Few men can stand by and watch their children starve."

Both Nicholas Higgins and Mr Thornton had told her that Milton men were too proud to take charity but these were desperate times and Margaret was determined to help in whatever way she could. She started taking baskets to the poorest districts in Milton.

One day, as she was returning from one such trip, she ran into Mr Thornton. He noticed right away where she had been. She was carrying an empty basket and the hem of her skirts were somewhat soiled.

"Is there anything I can say to stop you, Miss Hale," he asked.

"I am afraid not," she said firmly.

Thornton knew better than to argue with her. He made way for her so that she could continue walking and then fell in step with her. Margaret was surprised at that since Mr Thornton had been heading in the opposite direction. They walked in silence for a few minutes.

"Mr Thornton, weren't you going towards the market?" she had to ask.

"I was but it is a small errand. It can wait," he said. "I am sorry I should have asked you before accompanying you. I hope you do not mind."

"No. It's alright, Mr Thornton. Fanny was right, you certainly have a lot of time on your hands," Margaret smiled.

"Yes, I don't know what to do with myself," Thornton admitted. "What do you suggest?" Thornton asked.

Margaret was taken aback by the question. She had no idea what Mr Thornton might like. She said the only thing that occurred to her.

"You could accompany Fanny. She was talking about visiting the book store. I am sure she would love to go with you."

"I suppose I could do that. But can you assure me that she will not try to drag me into another hare-brained adventure?"

"Mr Thornton, I shall not have you talk unkindly about my only friend in Milton," Margaret said gathering her brows in a stern expression.

Mr Thornton had never been teased by Margaret and he found that he enjoyed it immensely. She looked so utterly endearing trying to suppress the smile that was forming on her lips.

"I shall inform Fanny of your spirited defense" he said.

"But then you will have to tell her what occasioned it."

"I don't imagine she will be surprised."

"But she will be disappointed. Surely, you see that she desires your good opinion."

"My good opinion?" Thornton looked surprised. "I don't believe she cares for what I think. She does as she pleases. We have been far too indulgent with her," Thornton said.

Margaret couldn't believe that Mr Thornton did not see what was so obvious to her, an outsider.

"Mr Thornton, I cannot agree with you. I admit I have not had many occasions to observe you and Fanny together but I do believe she wishes that you would treat her as a sister, as an equal instead of as a child."

Thornton slowed down and looked at Margaret, taking in the meaning of her words. He then bowed his head and continued walking, lost in thought. Margaret wondered if she had overstepped her bounds.

"I am sorry if I have upset you. It was not my intention to imply that you were a—"

"No, Miss Hale," Thornton said quickly. "I am thankful that you spoke freely. I admit I haven't been the best of brothers. I…I haven't had the time. When our father passed away I was in university; I had just started it, actually. He had left behind an enormous debt. I had to become a man as well as I could in a few days. Fanny was a little girl and I wasn't sure what comfort I could offer her other than making sure that she never lacked anything. All my energies in those dark years were devoted to paying back the creditors and restoring our family finances. But now that we are secured and she is grown up, I didn't think that she still needed a brother."

During this remarkable speech, Margaret hadn't removed her eyes from Mr Thornton's face, she couldn't, even if she wanted to. He spoke so simply about his struggles, about his younger years. It must not have been easy for him to tell her. Feeling her gaze on him, Thornton looked at her.

"I have made you uncomfortable with my history," he said.

"No," and then more forcefully, "No. I think you are a remarkable man, Mr Thornton."

His heart thrilled at her words, at the praise that she gave so freely and honestly. His face broke into a deliciously happy and boyish smile.

"You should smile more often, it really suits you," Margaret said before she had a chance to realise that it was probably too forward and very likely to be misconstrued. Margaret looked away and started walking at an increased pace. Thornton understood at once why she looked flustered and not wishing to embarrass her by dwelling on the subject, silently walked beside her.

They fell into companionable silence for the rest of the walk. Later that evening, Margaret narrated what Mr Thornton had told her to her father. But Mr Hale already knew Mr Thornton's story.

"Why didn't you tell me about it?" Margaret asked.

"I didn't want to supply you more reasons for your prejudice against the man. But if I had known you would be so admiring, I would have told you sooner."

Margaret sputtered at the first part and blushed at the latter.

"So, he is complaining about having too much time on his hands," Mr Hale rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

Margaret eyed her father suspiciously. Margaret wondered what made her father smile in that mischievous way of his. As it turned out, she didn't have to wait long to find out. Two days later, when Mr Thornton showed up an hour earlier than his usual time, her father came down from his room, all dressed to go out.

"Papa, where are you going? Mr Thornton is here."

"I know. John is taking me to his gentlemen's club."

Margaret could do nothing but stare at her father for a full minute as he adjusted his scarf in front of the mirror in the hall.

"Gentlemen's club?"

"Yes."

"You are going to a gentlemen's club?"

"Yes."

"You have never been to a gentlemen's club!"

"I have."

"Where?"

"In Oxford."

"That must have been ages ago."

"Precisely. It's been ages."

"What will you do there?"

"The usual—smoke, drink, talk."

"You don't smoke. Or drink."

"I used to—"

Margaret let her jaw fall in a most unladylike manner.

"—ages ago," Mr Hale finished. Margaret clamped her mouth shut.

"Whose idea was it?" Margaret asked.

"Mine," her father said.

"Don't look so disapproving, Maggie. Don't I deserve a night out?" her father appealed.

Thornton watched this entire exchange with a great deal of consternation. He had never heard of a father requiring his daughter's permission to do anything. But it seemed that's exactly what Mr Hale was doing. For a moment, Thornton felt jealous of the charming domestic scene; it seemed that such conversations were a regular feature of the Hales household. He wondered if his own family would have been different had his father been alive.

"Of course, father," Margaret finally softened. "But do you think it's a good idea? You still have the cold."

"Just a trifle."

Her father looked so excited and happy that Margaret gave in with a sigh.

"You'll need a warmer scarf. I will get it."

"No, no, stay here. I know where I've kept it," with that her father went back upstairs.

"He will be alright," Thornton said. Margaret looked worried. "I will see him home."

"How long will you be there?" Margaret asked.

"A couple of hours. Maybe more; it depends."

"This is so unlike him. I don't know what to think," Margaret confessed.

"Do you think I am a bad influence on your father?" Thornton couldn't resist.

"It depends. Do you think I am a bad influence on your sister?" Margaret asked with a smile.

"Touché, Miss Hale," Thornton smiled back and Margaret once again found herself immensely happy at being able to make him smile.

Mr Hale returned wearing a different scarf and after fussing over him and retying the scarf to her satisfaction and helping him into his coat, Margaret kissed him good bye. She stood watching as her father and Mr Thornton walked away. They made such an odd pair. Mr Thornton was such an imposing figure with his broad shoulders and the fashionable hat that he was wearing, while her father looked even more frail and old next to him.

Margaret went to her room and brought her sketchbook and pencils to the study. She started drawing her father and Mr Thornton as they had looked together.

A couple of hours later, Margaret was roused from her work by a knock on the door. As promised, Mr Thornton had delivered her father back to her. Her father looked quite red; Margaret wasn't sure whether it was from excitement or exertion.

"Papa, are you alright?" Margaret asked, letting the two men inside.

"I am a bit tired, that's all. But I had a wonderful evening, thanks to my young friend here."

"Mr Hale, I think you should rest now," Mr Thornton said.

"Yes. Well, good night and thanks again."

"The pleasure was all mine. Good night, Mr Hale," Thornton said, shaking Mr Hale's hand.

Thornton had just stepped outside the door, when Mr Hale suddenly stopped halfway up the stairs. "John, I forgot the books. Let me bring them down," he said turning around.

"What books?" Margaret asked.

"Mr Thornton complained about having not much to do during the day, so I promised to give him some books to read," her father explained.

"You can give them to me tomorrow. Please do not trouble yourself over them," Thornton said.

"It will hardly take a minute. I insist," Mr Hale started climbing up the stairs.

"Papa, let me bring it. You need not run up and down. Mr Thornton, will you please wait for a minute?" Thornton gave her a nod. Margaret looped her hand through her father's and helped him up the stairs.

Thornton closed the main door. A small fire had been burning in the study and the room looked warm and inviting. Thornton went to stand near the fire but as he made his way towards the hearth, he noticed an open sketchbook lying on one the chairs. He went to examine the drawing.

It was a picture of two men walking. They were walking away from the viewer but there was no mistaking who the two men were. Thornton marvelled at the skill with which Margaret had captured the scene. While he had been drawn with firm, sure lines and a liberal use of charcoal to highlight the dark coat and hat, her father had been drawn with a gentle hand, the pressure of the pencil on the paper at places too faint. The effect was startling—light and dark, youth and age.

Thornton picked up the sketchbook and turned the pages. Thornton could scarcely believe what he was looking at. It was a picture of him. He had a book in his hand and he was reading from it. Thornton knew that was how he must have looked as he sat with Mr Hale. He turned another page. He sucked in his breath. It was him again but this time, it was just his face. He was smiling in this picture. He turned another page and then another. It was full of pictures of him. On the margins, she had practiced individual features—the shape of his eyes, his nose and his lips. She had shaded the pictures carefully to bring out the contours of his face, the play of light and shadow. Margaret had been secretly observing and drawing him! Thornton knew that he was considered handsome but he had never allowed himself to believe that a creature as bewitching as Margaret would find him handsome and certainly not compelling enough to capture on paper. He looked at the picture and imagined her running a delicate finger over his face, over his lips to even out the shading. His heart sped up at the thought.

His trance was broken by the sound of her feet on the stairs. He quickly put down the sketchbook and stood by the fire.

"Here are the books," Margaret held them out as she entered the study. Mr Thornton didn't immediately turn towards her, his eyes were fixed on the embers.

She took a few steps towards him. "Mr Thornton?"

When he finally turned, there was a strange gleam in his eyes. An intensity that knocked the air out of her body. The room suddenly felt very small and very hot.

"Mr Thornton," she said again, half-whisper, half-question.

Thornton walked towards her and though God knew that Margaret Hale did not have one cowardly bone in her body, she involuntarily took a step back. Thornton didn't once take his eyes off her. He stopped in front of her. Not too close but it didn't matter. She could feel the heat radiating off his body. Mr Thornton was looking at her as though he was searching her face for something. She felt the blood rush to her face.

"The books," she said weakly. She held out the books creating some sort of barrier between them.

He took the books from her hand without his eyes leaving her face.

"Miss Hale," he said as if he was about to ask a question but then thought the better of it. Margaret didn't know what to expect. Why was he looking at her like that? What was he going to do?

"Good night, Miss Hale," he said decisively and left the room.

Margaret was dimly aware of the front door opening and closing and a gust of cold wind entering the house.

What in God's name had just happened, she wondered.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N**: _Thank you so much for your reviews and encouragement. Thank you so much for following this little story._

_When I started writing it, I was afraid that it is so different in tone from the novel as well as the TV series that it will likely not meet with your approval. Plus I have taken quite a few liberties with the main characters - Thornton doesn't suffer from an inferiority complex with regard to Margaret and Margaret is far more daring and self-aware. I imagine I will broadly stick to the major milestones in the novel, but I will invent the journey._

_Thank you once again! I love you guys!_

_Hope you enjoy this new chapter :)_

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><p>Thornton let the cold, biting wind bring him back to his senses.<p>

He had always prided himself on his self-control, but tonight he had felt it slip away like water through his hands. The knowledge that she had spent hours studying his face, that she had drawn him again and again, that she might care for him had nearly undone him.

It took every ounce of his will power to not touch her. To maintain the appropriate distance. He didn't even remember what he had meant to ask her. All he saw was her and how her lips were parted in surprise and confusion, how her breathing was laboured, how she took his name in a breathless whisper. He had to leave. One moment more and he would have pulled her into his arms, would have done what he had been dreaming of doing ever since he met her. He _had_ to leave.

Even now with the cold wind stinging his face, he shuddered at the intensity of the moment.

Slowly, gradually, with every step that he took, he regained his power of reason. Young unmarried women did not draw men they were not attached to—which is why she had had never asked him for a sitting. But even if she had drawn him in secret, her manner towards him has always been very proper (indignant outbursts notwithstanding). She had never given him any encouragement. She treated him as any young lady would treat her father's friend. Occasionally, she had spoken to him as a friend, but nothing more. It was he who had made all the advances; any improper conduct had been his doing.

Thornton raked his fingers through his hair. Was he foolishly jumping to the wrong conclusion? Was he ascribing deeper meaning and feelings to a few drawings? He wished he could ask her, maybe that was what he meant to ask her before his rational senses took leave of him. That reminded him: He could not allow what happened today to happen again—that is, until he had any positive proof of her feelings. God knew how difficult it had been tonight. He had no idea what Margaret might make of his strange behaviour this evening. As much as the idea appealed to him, he did not imagine that trying to sweep her off her feet with his ardour will make a favourable impression on her. Would she have been startled—yes, of course! Would she have fainted—of course not! Other young Misses would have but not Margaret, he thought with a laugh. She would have given him a verbal lashing that he would remember to his dying day, word for word. And then she would have slammed the door in his face. Most certainly and most resoundingly. He laughed again. He had no idea why he was laughing. If there was ever a time to think and act carefully, it was now but he couldn't wipe the smile off his face. He couldn't contain the happiness and laughter that was bubbling over in his heart.

Thornton felt like a young child who had stumbled across a delightful secret. He remembered how as a young boy his governess, Miss Hunter, had promised him a sweetened candy for every sum he solved correctly. One day, he had discovered the little bag in which she used to hide the sweets—from him as well as his mother, who disapproved of any bribe. Even then, he had known that pocketing all the candies would not be a good idea. So every day, he would try to solve as many sums as he could and in addition to the well-earned candies which a pleasantly surprised Miss Hunter gave him, he would later quietly take out a few more without anyone being the wiser. That was such a long time ago, but he supposed he hadn't changed all that much.

Thornton decided to not bring up the drawing with Margaret; truth be told, he simply could not. And not just because a gentleman would never do it but because it was Margaret's secret and he couldn't bring himself to use his knowledge of her secret to press his suit. This knowledge was its own reward. It was precious because it gave him hope. He now knew that Margaret was not entirely indifferent to him.

Before tonight, he had not allowed himself too much hope. Despite the bravado that he had displayed in front of his mother about Margret "not yet" caring for him, he wasn't sure where to begin. He still had a long way to go before claiming a place in her affections. But this serendipitous discovery has given him the courage to proceed with confidence.

Thornton's courage would have increased a thousand-fold if he had known that the object of his fervent hope and desire was tossing and turning in her bed thinking about him. Margaret did not like that Mr Thornton could unsettle her like that. Margaret liked to be in command of the situation; at the very least, she liked to be in command of herself. Tonight, when he had looked at her like that, it was so new, so unprecedented that she didn't know what to do or make of it. None of the young gentlemen had ever looked at her the way Mr Thornton had. She knew that it was not proper. She knew she should be outraged at his boldness—except that she had felt no outrage. Instead, she found herself trembling with anticipation, waiting to see what he would do. And then he had left. Just like that! That he could simply walk away as though it was nothing, while she herself had been aflame was mortifying beyond words.

Just when she had started to think that she might be friends with Mr Thornton, he had to go ahead and do something that made the very idea of a friendship with him seem ridiculous. How could she be friends with him when he made her so unsure of herself? Margaret desperately wished she had someone she could talk to. Now, more than ever, she missed the old Edith. Margaret and Edith had been very close; they had giggled, joked and discussed their little army of suitors. But all that had changed when Edith married Captain Lennox. Since then, Edith had made it her mission in life to see Margaret and Henry together. She could not talk about Mr Thornton with Edith. Besides, what would she say—that Mr Thornton annoyed and puzzled her in equal measure; that he made her feel and act so unlike herself. Margaret feared that Edith, on the slightest suspicion of another man in Margaret's acquaintance, would herself come down to Milton. Or, Heaven forbid, send Henry to Milton to sniff out any possible competition. No, she could not talk to Edith.

Margaret fell into a restless, fitful sleep. A couple of hours before dawn, her mind finally relaxed and she drifted off to a deep, peacefully slumber. When Margaret woke up the next morning, she felt surprisingly refreshed and more herself.

I must see Bessie, was Margaret's first thought upon waking up. And so after seeing to the household and giving instructions, she hurried off to Princeton.

"Goodness, did you run all the way?" Bessie asked astonished.

"No, why would I?" Margaret said out of breath as she removed her bonnet and shawl.

Bessie raised an eyebrow. She poured out a cup of tea and pushed it in Margaret's direction.

"Just what I need," Margaret took a big gulp and smiled.

Bessie watched her from the rim of her cup. "What are you smiling about?"

Margaret immediately stopped smiling.

"I wasn't."

Bessie fixed her with a look.

"Where are the children?" Margaret asked.

"With father. He has taken them on a walk. Father has more time than he knows what to do with."

"Mr Thornton complained about the same thing," Margaret said eagerly, glad for any excuse to talk about Mr Thornton.

"Now is the time for all the young Misses to set their caps for him. He will be glad for the distraction," Bessie said taking a leisurely sip.

Margaret kept her eyes focused on the cup.

"He is considered quite the eligible bachelor—sought after by all the young women."

"Surely not all," Margaret bit out.

Bessie shrugged. "The young spinners like him better than all the other Masters."

Margaret choked on her tea. Bessie smiled nonchalantly.

"Can we not talk about Mr Thornton?" Margaret asked.

"Well, you shouldn't have talked about him if you didn't want to talk about him."

Margaret gave Bessie an annoyed look. God, she is worse than Edith.

"Where is Mr Woof?"

"You didn't think the children would leave him behind," Bessie asked. Then, after a pause she added, "The young spinners like Mr Woof better than even Mr Thornton."

"Well, Mr Woof is a great deal more agreeable," Margaret said.

"And better looking," Bessie pointed out.

"And better behaved," Margaret added.

The two friends looked at each other and burst out laughing.

An hour later, Margaret made her way back home. The visit had done both of them a great deal of good. They chatted about this and that, insignificant silly things, as if they didn't have a care in this world.

As Margaret passed through the market, she remembered that she had to buy new curtains. The ones that they had were delicate and light and better suited for Helstone where the air was clean. Margaret feared that the curtains would not be able to withstand another vigorous wash; they will be quite shredded. No use putting it off, and so with a light skip in her step, Margaret headed off to the local draper.

Thornton, on the other hand, was dragging his feet. Literally. He was having a not so successful day. He had decided to take Margaret's advice and accompany Fanny to the book store. He had hoped that Fanny might decide to ask Margaret along. Instead, Fanny told him that they will meet Miss Latimer. It was too late to turn back and Thornton didn't have the heart to disappoint Fanny.

At the book store, Miss Latimer proceeded to question Thornton about the kind of books that he liked to read (philosophy, he replied dryly), told him that she found the Gothic novels quite terrifying (isn't that the idea, he quipped), and urged Fanny to reconsider her decision to buy Mr Collins' _Hide and Seek_. Thornton had no doubt that all of this was being done to impress him; Miss Latimer was no more subtle than her father. He asked Fanny what the Collins book was all about and when she told him that it is a mystery, he gave her his approval. He might read it himself, if it turned out to be any good.

As they stepped out of the book store, Thornton spotted Margaret entering a draper's shop. Suddenly, the day started looking up. Before he knew what he was doing, Thornton had crossed the street and was heading in the direction of the shop, with a confused Fanny and Miss Latimer in tow.

"Did you want to buy something, Mr Thornton?" Ann asked.

Fanny, who was looking inside the shop, exclaimed "Margaret! I think that's her," and entered the shop.

Ann Latimer ground her teeth and followed Fanny along with Mr Thornton.

Upon hearing her name, Margaret turned around and saw Fanny and behind her Miss Latimer with her hands around Mr Thornton's arm. She turned her attention back to Fanny.

"Fanny, what are you doing here?" The draper's shop was a modest-sized establishment that kept furnishing and such articles. She had no idea why the Thorntons and Latimers would be here.

"We were passing by and saw you," Fanny looked around. "Now that we are here, I do need some handkerchiefs. What about you?"

"I am here to buy some curtains," Margaret said.

"Curtains!" Miss Latimer gave a disbelieving laugh. "Isn't there someone who can do that for you?"

Thornton immediately disengaged his arm from Miss Latimer's clutches. "I might be of some assistance," he said coming forward with a smile.

"John just needs an excuse to talk about cotton," Fanny rolled her eyes.

Ann looked at Fanny with ill-concealed contempt. How can the little fool not see that it was Margaret and not cotton that Mr Thornton was interested in. But it was for the better that she didn't see it. If Fanny realises that Mr Thornton is partial to Miss Hale, she would not rest until they were at the altar.

"Come on, Ann! Let's go before he bores us to tears," Fanny grabbed Ann and went to the other counter.

Left alone with Mr Thornton, Margaret suddenly found herself unable to look at him. The memory of last night came flooding back. She turned around and started inspecting the fabric. Thornton quietly stood by her side. A full minute passed.

"You have never purchased curtains before," Thornton said, not a question but a statement. She was looking at the different samples as though they were exhibits.

"No," Margaret said quietly. Funny how she had never thought about curtains her entire life, didn't have the first clue about them and now she had to buy them.

"Are you looking for curtains or over-drapes?" Thornton asked.

"Curtains. The ones we have are a rather delicate muslin; I am afraid they won't survive another round of washing," Margaret said.

Thornton motioned to the draper, who came to them immediately.

"Show us some muslin and cotton lace," Thornton said taking charge of the situation.

Us. One would think they were a married couple buying furnishing for their home, Margaret thought. From the other counter, Ann was looking dagger at them.

The draper quickly returned with an armful of rolls. He spread them out on the counter.

"These look like the ones we have," Margaret pointed at the figured muslin. Margaret turned her attention to the other samples. They were quite beautiful and quite different.

"This is lace," she remarked.

"Nottingham lace," Thornton said.

"From Nottingham?" Margaret asked astonished.

"No, the name comes from the looms they are woven on," Thornton explained.

"The needle work is so precise and fine. I don't think I have seen anything like this," she said, inspecting it closely.

"It is machine-woven, that's why. Allows for far greater precision and control," Thornton said before the draper had the chance to answer. He took the fabric between his fingers to test it. He gave an approving nod to the draper.

"14 point?" Thornton asked.

"Yes, that's right, Mr Thornton."

When Margaret looked at him inquiringly, Thornton explained "Points indicate how many vertical threads every inch are worked on the weft of the loom. Nottingham comes in 8, 10, 12 and 14 points. The higher the point, the more delicate the lace, the more capable it is of showing detailed patterns."

Since Mr Thornton was doing such an excellent job of explaining all the details, the draper happily held up the samples one by one so that Margaret could see the patterns and make a decision.

Margaret looked at each pattern, her face slightly scrunched up. Thornton stood aside and watched Margaret as she made her decision. Suddenly, her face lit up.

"This one!" she said. It was a 10-point design that featured roses. It was quite simple, yet striking with distinct areas of opaque figures and open latticework.

"Ah, the Highland Rose! Excellent choice," the draper gushed. "But perhaps, you would like to see the remaining patterns as well. Maybe you will like something even better."

"No, thank you. This one is perfect," Margaret said.

"Very well then, Madam," the draper assented.

"You like roses," Thornton asked.

"Yes. They remind me of Helstone," Margaret smiled. "We had the most beautiful roses in our garden."

The draper coughed to draw Margaret's attention. While Margaret told the draper the panel size and the number of curtains that she needed, Fanny returned with a large packet.

"Handkerchiefs for a lifetime?" Thornton inquired.

"I bought some for mama and you as well," Fanny said.

Duly chastened, Thornton gave Fanny an apologetic and affectionate smile. "I am sorry and thank you," he said and took the packet from Fanny.

Margaret returned after giving her address to the draper.

"We have been to the book store," Fanny told Margaret. "I got Mr Wilkins Collins' new book. For a moment, I was afraid that John was going to "forbid"."

Margaret looked at Thornton in surprise.

Reading her expression, Fanny said, "Exactly! I always thought John was a stick in the mud but he—!" Fanny immediately covered her mouth with her hand.

"I am glad you think better of me now," Thornton said blandly to his sister.

"Miss Hale, I trust you to not tell your father about it; I wouldn't like to disappoint him." Mr Thornton was giving her a—was she seeing things—a quiet mischievous smile! A smile that made it possible for her to imagine how he must have looked as a young boy.

Margaret swallowed, but no intelligent reply came forth. Even Fanny was stunned at her brother's good humour.

"Shall we be off?" Ann said, eager to end the scene and be rid of Margaret. Margaret looked at Ann who had once again claimed Mr Thornton's arm. She remembered Bessie's words about Mr Thornton being sought after by all the girls. This one was practically throwing herself at him. Margaret decided that she hated Ann Latimer even more, if that was possible.

"Well, I must be off. Thank you for helping me out, Mr Thornton. And educating me," Margaret said with a grateful smile.

"We'll see you tomorrow at the dinner. I convinced mama to arrange for musicians, so there will be some dancing," Fanny beamed. "Nothing very formal but it will be great fun!"

Thornton knew that his mother did not want to spend money on frivolous entertainment, even though he had told her to not worry about the expense. He had been there when Fanny "convinced" their mother. It's terrifying what Fanny can accomplish once she set her mind to it. She is a Thornton after all.

Ann's eyes were narrowed in anger. How had Margaret managed to get an invitation to the Thornton dinner party? Since when did Mrs Thornton start inviting renegade clergymen and their family to her dinner parties? She will have to speak to her father and move in soon before this upstart snagged Mr Thornton!


	14. Chapter 14

"Papa, are you not surprised that the Thorntons are having a party? Especially, with the strike going on?" Margaret asked her father as they walked to the dinner party.

"Well, the Thorntons give their annual dinner same day every year; that's what I have heard. Apparently, it is the big event in Milton," her father said.

Margaret smiled but it didn't feel right to her that the Masters should be having a grand time while the workers and their children were starving. The strike was the big event.

"Come now, Margaret. Try to enjoy the evening, I am sure things will turn out fine," he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

It certainly was a big event. The street outside the house was illuminated by the light coming from the windows. When Margaret entered the house, she was surprised at how different it looked. Gone was the Spartan appearance; every corner was full of flowers; candles burned brightly; and the chandeliers were lit. A few strings of music could be heard amid the clinking of glasses. Most of the guests had already arrived. Mrs Thornton saw them enter and came to greet them.

"Mr Hale, I am glad to finally meet you. John speaks very highly of you," Mrs Thornton shook Mr Hale's hand.

"Delighted to meet you, Mrs Thornton. Your son is a brilliant young man."

Mrs Thornton's face glowed with pride upon hearing her son praised.

"My daughter, Margaret" her father stood aside a bit to allow Margaret to come to the front.

"Mrs Thornton," Margaret nodded.

Mrs Thornton acknowledged her nod and gave her an assessing look. Margaret must have met with her approval, for Mrs Thornton gave her a smile. "Make yourself at home," and after ushering them inside the room, she went to see to her other guests.

"Margaret!" Fanny came to greet her. "What a pretty gown! You must take me to your modiste if we ever go to London. Promise?"

"Promise! The house looks really lovely."

"Mama arranged it all. The dance will be held after dinner," Fanny told her. "Finally after years, we'll have even number of ladies and gentlemen. So don't even think about trying to make any excuses."

"I won't," it was difficult to not get carried away by Fanny's enthusiasm.

"I think everyone is here," Fanny remarked.

Everyone except Mr Thornton. The party was in full swing and the guests, mostly mill owners and their wives and daughters had formed small circles and were talking. Her father had also found himself someone to talk to. Mrs Thornton moved from one group to the other, playing the gracious hostess. Margaret knew that Mr Thornton was not the sort of man to make a fashionably late entrance at his own dinner party, so it must be something important that is keeping him away.

"Oh, Mr Webster has also finally come!" Fanny said.

Andrew Webster had just entered the room and after a quick scan, he headed straight towards Margaret and Fanny.

"Ladies," he bowed.

"Did John arrive with you?" Fanny asked.

"Yes, he should be here any minute," Andrew said.

"Thank goodness! I am tired of playing the hostess. I hope John gets here soon and does his duty," Fanny said in exasperation.

Ann Latimer suddenly materialised from nowhere. She was at her fashionable best and looked quite pretty with matching ribbons in her hair. She gave Margaret a cool stare. Upon realising that she was not going to earn the title of the most beautiful girl in the room if she stood next to Margaret, she turned her attention to Fanny.

"Fanny, Mrs Slickson was asking about you. Mr Webster, Miss Hale will you be alright if I steal Fanny away for a few moments," Ann inquired politely.

"Of course," Andrew smiled.

Ann wound her hand through Fanny's and took her away. Andrew looked at the two girls and slowly what this was all about started becoming clear to him. But the question was: was Ann discouraging his friendship with Fanny or was she encouraging his friendship with Miss Hale.

"Were you and Mr Thornton out?" Margaret asked.

"Yes," Andrew said somewhat absently.

Margaret turned to look at him. Feeling her gaze, he turned to face her.

"Wool gathering," he said with an apologetic smile. "So has your opinion of Milton improved? Or are we still savages?"

"I never said that," Margaret said outraged, but she was smiling.

"I am quite sure you thought it."

When Margaret did not immediately respond, he laughed.

"Always the brutal truth, Miss Hale."

"Milton is sometimes very difficult to get used to," Margaret said with a shrug. She opened her mouth to say something more but stopped when she saw Mr Thornton make his entrance. He looked incredibly handsome and dapper. He was wearing a cream coloured brocade waistcoat and a black dinner jacket. His hair was slightly ruffled as though, he didn't have the time to brush them carefully. He immediately made his way to Mrs Thornton and the two chatted quietly for a moment. Then, he squared his shoulders and turned around and was soon smiling and greeting his guests.

Andrew turned his head to see what had caught Margaret's attention. Ah, he thought with a grin. On the night of the concert, he had caught Mr Thornton stealing glances at Miss Hale; but Andrew hadn't paid much attention to it then. Miss Hale was, after all, very beautiful and Mr Thornton was but a man. But this, this is certainly interesting.

Margaret saw that Mr Thornton was shaking hands with a young lady. She remembered how she had rebuffed him when he had offered to shake her hand. At that time, she had thought him extremely forward. Margaret regretted her rudeness. She wondered if it was alright for her to initiate a handshake.

"I don't think I fully understand Milton ways," she said, half to herself.

"Maybe, I can help you," Andrew offered.

"The handshake," Margaret said. "In London or Helstone, no gentleman would expect a lady to shake his hand. But here it is the normal way of greeting."

"I confess I was quite surprised by the custom myself but once I saw the—ahem—advantages, I got over my reservations very quickly," he said with a roguish smile.

"You are incorrigible!" Margaret swatted his arm playfully.

Andrew looked at Margret with surprise. Margaret was looking at the rest of the party, completely oblivious to the fact that she had just acted in a rather familiar way with him. Suddenly, a thought came to him: she must have a brother. That had to be it. Miss Hale was such an easy person to talk to but more importantly, she was completely at ease talking to him. There had been a natural camaraderie between them—the sort that exists between siblings. Which was why he felt completely at ease making that remark about the handshake; he knew that Miss Hale will never mistake it for flirtation. But she had never mentioned a brother. Still, Andrew felt quite certain that there must be one, either a brother or a very close cousin brother. Maybe, she will tell him about it later. But in the meantime, he quickly looked around to see if anyone else had seen it and sure enough, he saw Fanny and Miss Latimer looking at them. Argh, curse it!

Fanny and Miss Latimer were not the only ones who were keeping an eye on Margaret and Andrew. Thornton found that he was scarcely able to focus on what Watson was saying. He heard snatches of their conversation and laughter with increasing irritation. He had been aware of Margaret the moment he had entered the room. He wasn't able to look at her properly but he knew that she was standing near the window with Andrew. He wanted to go straight to her but first, he had to tell his mother that he will be leaving the dinner party by eight. He and Andrew will have to go to the railway station to oversee the arrival of the Irish workers and quietly bring them to the mill. His contact in Liverpool had sent the workers a day early. Thornton had received the dispatch only this afternoon, forcing him and Andrew to quickly make all the final arrangements. They had just returned after meeting the police commissioner; they had asked for armed guards to be stationed at the railway station this evening. That was what had made them late to the party. He had been so eager to see her that he had dressed for the dinner in record time. But he had a duty as a host and he found himself getting pulled into conversations, unable to excuse himself without offending his guests.

Seeing Margaret laughing with Andrew had been enough to make Thornton regret taking him on. And he had taken on Andrew precisely for the reasons which were now annoying him. Andrew possessed the rare combination of being a natural businessman and a charming gentleman. Andrew was the youngest son of a country squire. His father had expected him to join the church but Andrew was not ready for it. After a quarrel with his father, Andrew had packed his bags, took the first train he saw at the station and had ended up in Milton. Someone must have mentioned Marlborough Mills to him upon his arrival, so Andrew had showed up at the mill and had somehow talked his way into Thornton's office. Once inside the office, he had tried convincing Thornton to take him on as an assistant. Thornton was about to grab him by the collar and throw him out when a quarrel broke out between two of the workers. Andrew jumped right into the fray and—Thornton still had no idea how he did it—within 10 minutes had the two workers shaking hands. Thornton had hired him right then. His mother found Andrew too glib but Thornton recognised that behind that easy smile and debonair manner was a first-rate mind. Within weeks, Andrew had the customers eating out of his hands. Thornton had promoted him to manager and the two had formed a sort of friendship. But right now, Thornton wanted to strangle Andrew.

Thornton was jolted out of his murderous mood when he heard the words "Miss Thornton" and "court". He tried to follow what Watson was saying. After a few moments, Thornton figured out that Watson was seeking his permission to court Fanny.

"Has my sister given you any promise?" Thornton asked.

"Yes. Well, no. That is, with encouragement she might," came the reply.

Thornton was surprised at the relief that washed over him. He did not like Watson. Watson was a cowardly sort of fellow, always up to some tricks or ill-dealings. But he was even more surprised at the thought that Fanny was now an eligible young lady and that he will soon be giving her away. He looked at Fanny. She was talking animatedly with Miss Latimer. Margaret was right, Fanny had grown up while he had been busy running the mill.

"I will give you my answer soon," Thornton said and walked away.

Thornton was finally about to go to Margaret when he was waylaid yet again. This time it was Mr Latimer.

"Mr Latimer, wonderful you could come," Thornton shook his hand.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world. So, how are things with the strike? How's business?" Mr Latimer inquired.

"Things will be fine. We will ride out the strike just like last time," Thornton said.

"Well, these are tough times, but I always had complete faith in you. You are the only person I would give funds to without a question," Mr Latimer patted Thornton on the shoulder.

Thornton currently owed the banks about 400 pounds and while he knew that he will pull through, it didn't seem like a particularly wise time to point out to Mr Latimer that Thornton paid him much better interest than anyone and which is the only reason why Mr Latimer invested in him without a question. But the fact remained that Thornton did, and might, need Mr Latimer, so he held his tongue and waited for the rest of the speech.

"I am an old man, I have seen my days. Nothing gives me more happiness and satisfaction than investing in an honest, worthy young fellow. That's what I always tell my daughter. Oh, there she is," Mr Latimer said as Ann Latimer came to them. Thornton wondered if the entire speech had been rehearsed.

"You have met my daughter," the old man asked.

"Yes, I have had the pleasure," Thornton took her hand and bowed.

While Mr Latimer was singing Thornton's praises to his daughter, Perkins, one of the young lawyers, stood next to Thornton and whispered in his ears.

"Who is that young lady? By God, I have never seen her before. Will you introduce me?"

Thornton turned to look at who Perkins was talking about and found that it was Margaret. It was the first time that Thornton got a proper look at Margaret this evening and for a moment, he stood stunned. He had never seen her wear one of these fancy evening dresses. She was wearing a pale green satin dress that exposed her slender shoulders and a good deal more. She had done her hair a little differently. She was perfection and she was smiling at him.

Forgetting all about Perkins and the Latimers, Thornton walked straight to her. When he reached her, Margaret put out her hand. Thornton immediately took it; his pleasure written on his face.

"I am learning Milton ways, Mr Thornton," she said with a shy smile.

"I am glad," Thornton smiled at her. His hand was warm, his grip was firm and he was in no mood to relinquish her hand. Andrew wondered if they remembered that he was standing right next to them. Probably not.

"I say, isn't that Perkins. He looks rather put out. Let me see if I can cheer him," with that Andrew made himself scarce.

Margaret gently pulled out her hand from Mr Thornton's grasp.

"I hope you are having a good time," he asked.

"Yes, it is a lovely evening; Mr Webster is such a delightful companion," she said.

"Humm."

"I thought you didn't have too much to do these days," she remarked.

"Yes, something unexpected came up," Thornton was pleased that she had noticed his absence.

"Work?"

"Yes."

Margaret thought the whole thing rather strange. Both Mr Webster and Mr Thornton were being rather tight-lipped about whatever it was.

Thornton didn't want to talk about work; he was thinking about how to ask Margaret for a dance. All these years, Thornton had gone through a number of dinner parties without really dancing. Once or twice, he had been forced to twirl around some young lady that Fanny had foisted upon him. He did not really care for dancing but the idea of holding Margaret was too tempting to resist. He hoped she liked to dance; nobody can be that graceful and not know how to dance. But before Thornton could ask Margaret, Slickson showed up asking for a private word.

"Excuse me," he said to Margaret, hoped whatever it was that Slickson wanted won't take more than a minute.

"Your Irish workers are coming tonight? Why didn't you tell us?" Slickson hissed at him.

"And that concerns you because?"

"It concerns everyone. It's a big risk—"

"The risk is entirely mine. I will do whatever I need to protect myself and my workers. And I will thank you if you can keep the matter to yourself," Thornton spat out. But in his impatience to be rid of Slickson, Thornton had spoken a bit too loudly and Mr Latimer heard the entire exchange.

"I am sorry Thornton, I couldn't help but overhear," Mr Latimer joined the conversation.

When he saw Thornton's brows gathered in annoyance, he said, "Now, now, I am not here to tell you how to run your business but I have seen mobs go wild. I have seen the things they are capable of. I suggest you move your mother and sister to a safer place. They are welcome to stay at my house. It will be a day at most, but I urge you to consider it."

Mr Latimer spoken with genuine concern and Thornton regarded his proposal for a moment.

"Very well, I will speak with my mother."

"Good man! Now let's return to the ladies."

Thornton looked at where he had left Margret but she was gone. Thornton cursed inwardly at letting Margaret out of his sight. He then almost cursed aloud when Mr Latimer led him to his daughter.

While Thornton had been conducting his little conference, Margaret had gone off to find her father. Mr Hale was sitting down in a corner and was talking to an old lady.

"Is that your daughter?" the lady asked as she saw Margaret approaching.

"Margaret, this is Mrs Hampers. She is one of the patrons of the school."

"It's lovely to meet you," Margaret sat down on a chair next to them.

"So what do you do, young lady?" Mrs Hampers asked.

Margaret looked at her father not knowing what Mrs Hampers meant by that question.

"I meant are you one of these frivolous girls—embroidering nonsense all day long and reading silly novels?" Mrs Hampers clarified.

Margaret bristled. It seemed she was doomed to be surrounded by officious older women.

"I do not embroider. And I rather like reading novels," Margaret said, daring the old woman to disapprove.

But her words seemed to have the exact opposite effect. "I like her," Mrs Hampers said to Mr Hale and gave Margaret a twinkling smile.

Margaret was still upset so she did not feel like smiling back and responded to the praise with a mere nod.

"Oh, I really like her!" Mrs Hampers was grinning broadly now.

"Do you have any idea when dinner will be served?" Mrs Hampers abruptly changed the topic.

As if on cue, Mrs Thornton's voice rang out loud and clear, "To the dining room please!"

"Finally!" Mrs Hampers rose, rather energetically for her age.

Mr Hale, ever the gentleman rose immediately, but staggered slightly.

"Papa!" Margaret immediately held his arm. "Are you alright?"

"Oh dear! I keep forgetting that I am no longer young," he said recovering a little.

"We shouldn't have come," Margaret said, not quite liking the look on her father's face.

"Really Margaret, you must stop treating me like an old man," Mr Hale managed a smile.

"Come Mr Hale, we'll make a fine pair," Mrs Hampers placed her hand supportingly around Mr Hale's arm. "You shouldn't have any difficulty finding a partner," she said to Margaret and walked away with a very surprised Mr Hale.

Margaret looked at them as they disappeared into the dining room. Milton certainly had its share of characters.

"That's the old dragon of Milton," Mr Thornton whispered into her ears from behind.

Margaret nearly jumped. She could feel his hot breath on her cheek and neck.

"I am sorry I startled you."

"Wasn't that your intention?" she said catching her breath and feeling quite cross.

"No, I just wanted to make sure Mrs Hampers did not hear me."

"She was well out of earshot, Mr Thornton," she pointed out.

Thornton merely smiled. He did not know where he found the courage to do that. The guests had all moved to the dining room and he had somehow managed to extricate himself from the Latimers. He had idled behind waiting to catch Margaret. And when he saw her, he found himself staring at the lovely smooth skin on the back of her neck and her shoulders. He couldn't withstand the temptation. So much for his resolve not two nights ago.

"I should go inside," Margaret said not wanting to be alone with him. She had been extremely startled by the way he had snuck up behind her and his presumptuous behaviour. As she looked at him, she realised that he was, for the first time, boldly flirting with her. There was absolutely no mistaking it. And that idea completely unnerved her. Margaret suddenly understood that it was one thing to idly wonder about Mr Thornton and quite another thing to have it become real.

"John?" Mrs Thornton was standing at the door of the dining room. "We are waiting for you."

Margaret turned around and quickly went into the dining room.

"Everything alright?" Mrs Thornton asked her son.

"Yes," Thornton took his mother's arm and went inside.

How could I be such a damned fool, he thought to himself.


	15. Chapter 15

Andrew had expected to see Miss Hale being escorted in by Thornton. Instead, Miss Hale had come in quietly by herself and taken her place next to him. Mrs Thornton and Thornton entered moments later and took their places.

"Are you well?" Andrew asked Margret once everyone had sat down.

"I am fine," she said not looking up.

"Miss Hale?" he asked again.

"I am fine. Really," she said still not looking up.

Since he wasn't going to get an answer from her, he turned to look at Thornton. Thornton was listening to Miss Latimer, who sat at his right. But Andrew knew Thornton well enough to know that he was not paying any attention; he was lost in his own thoughts. Andrew wondered what had gone wrong between them. Twenty minutes ago, they had seemed perfectly delighted to be in each other's company. That handshake had lasted ages. But what happened now.

"Miss Hale, you are not fooling me," Andrew persisted.

"I—I assure you I am…" she finally looked up, touched by the genuine concern in his voice but she couldn't continue her lie.

"Yes?" Andrew prompted, after waiting for her to say something.

Margaret once again looked down. What exactly was she supposed to tell him? She didn't even know what was going through her mind, so many conflicting emotions and thoughts were tumbling around in her head.

"I am confused," she finally said, but still looking at her plate.

"That's simple. Work from the outside in. The soup spoon first, then the fish—they follow the same table settings in Milton," he grinned when she finally looked up and gave him a small but genuine smile.

Margaret wondered what miracle had made it possible that she should find someone like Mr Webster here in Milton. Fred too would not have let her look so quiet and unhappy.

"Have you met my father," she asked.

"No, I haven't yet had the pleasure."

"He would love to meet you," she said quietly.

Andrew was now absolutely certain that there must be a brother. Perhaps, he had passed away; maybe that's why she never spoke of him.

At the other end of the table, Thornton was mulling over the fact that the evening had not gone as he had planned. In fact, nothing had gone as planned. He felt as though all the different crises were converging—his feelings for Margaret, the strike, the arrival of the Irish workers. While he could apply his mind and reason to handle the situation with the Irish workers, he found that all his reason and logic went right out of the window when it came to Margaret.

He had been driven reckless by how the evening had gone. He was an impatient man in the best of times, and this evening, his patience had been sorely tested. He hadn't been able to get a quiet moment with Margaret and had almost given up hope. But then he had finally found her standing alone and he had thrown caution to the wind. For a brief moment, he had regretted his bold advance. He wryly remembered his resolution to not let himself be carried away by passion. He hadn't been that strong after all. He knew that he had startled Margaret in more ways than one. He had seen the panic in her eyes as his intentions dawned on her. From tentative friendship and quiet smiles, he had suddenly, in the last five minutes, made her aware of his desire for her. This was not how he had planned it but now that it was done, there was no going back. Besides, Thornton found that he was not enough of a gentleman to be truly ashamed of his action. He could not bring himself to regret the thrill he had felt when his lips had been a breath away from her warm skin. He had breathed her in and now his senses were on fire. Forget regretting, he wanted more.

He reached for his wine glass and as he brought it to his lips, he took a look at Margaret. She was sitting quietly, lost in her own world. He wished he knew what she was thinking. He willed her to look at him.

_Look at me. _

_Look at me. _

_Look_—

Suddenly, she lifted her head and looked directly at him. He could tell that she was startled to find his eyes on her. A moment later, she dropped her gaze. Even though she was sitting three seats away, he could see the colour spread from her cheeks all the way down to her neck right where there was a tiny mole. He had seen it when he had leaned down to whisper in her ears.

He was brought back from his reverie when he heard Margaret's name being spoken.

"… Miss Hale likes to go to Princeton," Miss Latimer was saying. "Surely you don't condone the strikers?" Ann asked pointedly.

A few heads turned to look at Margaret.

"I think it's good to see both sides of an argument. Both masters and workers have reasons for their positions," Margaret said to Ann with as much politeness as she could muster.

"But didn't Mrs Slickson see you take baskets to the strikers," Ann continued.

Suddenly, all conversations stopped. Everyone was now looking at Margaret.

"I have a good friend in Princeton. Her name is Bessie Higgins and—"

"Higgins?" Slickson interrupted. "Isn't he one of the union leaders? Works for Watson, doesn't he?"

"Yes. Terrific firebrand; a dangerous man," Watson said wiping his forehead.

"I am surprised you keep such company, Miss Hale," Mrs Thornton admonished. She had thought Margaret a proper young lady but this news surprised her. She looked at her son inquiringly, but his eyes were fixed on Margaret.

"As I said, Bessie is a good friend and Nicholas is—"

"You are on first name basis!" Ann did look genuinely shocked.

Margaret took a deep breath, controlling her anger.

"Mr Higgins is a good, proud man. It's true he has been driven a little wild by circumstances, but he means no harm."

"If he is such a proud man, I wonder how he accepts charity," Watson asked.

"He doesn't take the food for himself. It's for the three children that he has taken into his home."

"Well, if he cares for those children, he knows what to do. Go to work," Watson said.

Margaret hoped that was the end of the discussion. But Mrs Hampers resumed the conversation, "But who are these children? Where are their parents?"

Once again, all eyes turned to Margaret.

"Their father used to work in the mills," she said.

"Used to? Which mill?" the old woman prodded.

"Marlborough Mills," Margaret said quietly. Everybody now turned to look at Thornton.

"His name is Stephens," Thornton said. "I caught him smoking inside the mill."

"Serves him right. Let him and his children starve. Let them all starve!" Watson said viciously.

Thornton winced. He had always been against Margaret's misguided enthusiasm towards the workers, but his reasons were logical. He didn't want her to associate him with the likes of Watson.

"You do the strikers more harm than good with your basket," he addressed Margaret.

She turned her head and met his eyes.

"Logic would say the longer you support the strikers, the more you prolong the strike. That is not kindness. They will be defeated, but it will take longer. Their pain will be prolonged," he said amid sounds of approval from everyone at the table.

"But to give a dying baby food is not just a question of logic, Mr Thornton," Margaret said, her voice clear above the din, her eyes flashing fire.

An awkward silence descended upon the gathering. Margaret and Thornton stared at each other, the tension flaring up between them. Somebody cleared their throat and they both looked away. Gradually, the conversations resumed.

Margaret made a valiant attempt to appear calm and collected. Anger, embarrassment, indignation, shame and a hundred different emotions were coursing through her. She felt her self-control, her usual poise slipping away from her. All she wanted to do was run away, run somewhere where nobody could find her, run to a quiet place where she could make sense of what she was feeling.

She had been jolted to the core when Mr Thornton made his intentions clear. But had he declared himself in a way that was expected of a gentleman, she would not have been so shocked. She had always known that Mr Thornton's behaviour was always on the edge of improper, but tonight he had tried to initiate an intimacy, assumed a liberty that she had not given him. But her feelings of outrage were swallowed by shame. She felt ashamed of herself for ever thinking about Mr Thornton. She had not really wanted this or did she? In any case, she had not expected to feel so miserable. But the shame had been taken over by anger at his words about the strikers. A part of her had been relieved when the discussion about the strike had taken place. For a brief moment, she had been able to forget her own confused feelings. But now that the argument was over, she found that she had added anger to the cauldron of emotions that was boiling inside her.

Margaret was relieved when the dinner got over; she could retire to the drawing room along with the other ladies while the men stayed back. In the drawing room, Margaret found that the women of Milton were making their displeasure with her quite clear. The only two people who spoke to her were Fanny and Mrs Hampers.

"I am sorry everybody was so disapproving," Fanny said to her. "Please don't be upset. They will forget about it soon."

Margaret doubted that will happen but she managed a small smile.

"Oh dear! Mrs Hampers is coming this way. I am sorry but I am going to leave you now. That woman is insufferable; she is always telling me to improve my mind," Fanny said and ran away.

"That Thornton girl is always avoiding me," Mrs Hampers said as she reached Margaret's side. "But it's you I want to talk to."

Margaret mentally prepared herself for a lecture on propriety and manners.

"Well done!" she said.

"Excuse me?" Margaret blurted out.

"I said well done."

Margaret looked at the old woman in disbelief. "I just insulted our host."

"Yes. And I quite enjoyed it," Mrs Hampers said. "Can't say that about your poor father. He looked positively ill."

"I hope you are not regretting it already," the old woman said when she saw Margaret's face fall.

"Mrs Hampers, it was not my intention to make a scene. I do stand by what I said, but I wish I had employed some tact."

"Bah! Now you are disappointing me."

"I am not looking for your approval," Margaret bit out and then, immediately regretted her rudeness. She was snapping at people for no reason. "I am sorry."

"Young lady, you should care about my approval. Not many have it. In fact, there is only one other in this room who has it," Mrs Hamper nodded in the direction of Mrs Thornton.

Margaret fell silent at that. While she may manage to win Mrs Hamper's approval; she doubted if she will ever have Mrs Thornton's approval now.

"I think it's time to move to the ballroom," Mrs Hampers said.

The door to the drawing room had been thrown open and the ladies were moving out. Margaret was in no mood to dance; in fact, she had forgotten all about it. Margaret saw Fanny making eyes at her, asking her to join them and leave Mrs Hampers' side.

"Go on, Miss Hale. And tell Miss Thornton that I saw her," Mrs Hampers snorted.

Margaret followed the rest of the ladies into the ballroom. The men joined them a few minutes later. Mr Thornton entered last. He saw Margaret standing quietly in a corner. She stood apart from the crowd in all her beauty and elegant simplicity. Before he knew what he was about, he had started walking towards her. He knew that he had to leave the party soon and if he did not ask her to dance now, he will not get the opportunity.

Margaret had always been aware of Mr Thornton but this was something else entirely. She didn't even have to look up to know that Mr Thornton was striding purposefully towards her. She felt her courage deserting her. She was not ready for this. She needed to be away from this man. Margaret looked around in distress. Where was Ann Latimer when she was needed? But Ann was trapped in a conversation with Mrs Hampers.

Mr Thornton was now standing in front of her. She reluctantly moved her eyes to his face.

"Miss Hale, will you please dance with me," he asked.

Margaret once again looked around for an escape but instead found quite a few people looking at them with a great deal of interest. Among them were her father, Mrs Thornton, Mrs Hampers, Mr Webster, Fanny and of course, Ann Latimer. It became at once clear to her that they saw Mr Thornton's request for a dance as an act of reconciliation after their heated exchange at the dining table. He was being the gracious host, showing her and everyone that he bore her no ill-will. She couldn't refuse him and insult him further.

Realising that she was well and truly trapped, she gave a small nod.

"Thank you," he said and stood quietly by her side while the other gentlemen sought out partners.

"Miss Hal—" Thornton opened his mouth to speak but Margaret muttered a quick "Excuse me" and ran to the refreshment table.

She needed to gather herself. She felt angry at how he had manipulated her into a dance. He must have known that she had no desire to dance, least of all with him. Things had changed so quickly between them that she did not know how to react or what to think anymore. How had they gone from innocently talking about curtains to this—whatever _this_ was? Margaret had thought she knew what flirting was but Mr Thornton had stirred something dangerous and dark, this was uncharted territory and all she wanted to do was flee. She felt completely out of her depth with Mr Thornton. He was… he was—a man, she thought, for lack of a better word. Not a boy like Fred's friends; not a gentleman like Henry, but a man and she had no idea how to deal with one.

While Margaret stood at the refreshment table trying to find some courage, Fanny was talking to her brother.

"I am happy you asked her to dance. I thought it was rather horrible of you to lecture Margaret like that. And honestly, I think you got what you deserved," Fanny said.

"You came all this way to tell me this?" Thornton asked.

Fanny was about to huff off when Thornton remembered he had to talk to her about Watson.

"Fanny, wait!"

"What?"

"Do you…" Thornton paused for words, then decided that a direct question was best. "What do you think of Watson?"

"That mean, horrible man? Talking about letting poor little children starve while packing his mouth with food," Fanny shuddered with revulsion.

Thornton smiled. That was easy.

"Who are you dancing with?" he asked.

"Mr Webster"

"I see. Well, don't step on his toes and injure him. I need him to come with me tonight," Thornton said.

"I have never stepped on anybody's toes," Fanny said with as much dignity as she could summon. "I had an excellent teacher. You hired her, if you remember."

"But I was your first teacher," Thornton said quietly.

When Fanny looked at him puzzled, he said "You must have been four. I was home during my school break. One evening, you had suddenly decided that you wanted to dance and that I was to be your partner. You barely reached up to my knees but you somehow managed to stomp all over my toes. So I had to teach you how to move your feet," Thornton smiled at the memory.

Fanny looked at her brother all the love and awe that she was feeling shining in her eyes. These last few days, she had felt as if she was seeing a new side to her brother. She found that behind that gruff look and scowl, there was humour and deep affection. She had always adored her brother, even as a little girl, but he had always been busy and never had any time for her. But now, things were changing.

Andrew approached Margaret at the refreshment table. She looked as though she was bracing for battle. He was quite sure that she was not going to tell him whatever was bothering her. At the dinner table, she had made a good show of politely listening to his stories but he had known that she had not really listened very much.

"Miss Hale?" he asked.

She jerked her head. "Yes, I am sorry. I was—"

"Wool-gathering?" he supplied.

"Yes," she smiled.

"Miss Hale, will you promise me something?"

She looked at him with surprise.

"If you ever need a friend or if you are ever in need of any help, you will tell me."

Margaret looked at him, rapidly blinking back tears and nodded.

"Excellent! Now to the dance," he said, trying to change the mood. He offered her his arm and took her to where Thornton and Fanny were standing.

The couples had started to assemble on the dance floor.

"I believe Miss Hale is to dance with you," he said with a meaningful expression and brought her over to Thornton's side. Andrew had seen Thornton scowling at him throughout the evening and had quickly understood why. He hoped he was not the reason for the quarrel between the two. A look of understanding passed between the two men and Thornton nodded to acknowledge it.

"Miss Thornton, shall we?" Andrew took Fanny's hand and took her to the floor.

Thornton silently extended his hand and Margaret placed her hand in his. He led her to the dance floor.

She curtsied and Thornton bowed. She still couldn't bring herself to look into his eyes; her eyes were fixed on his shoulder. Margaret gasped when she felt Thornton's hand on her back. It was only then that she realised that they were going to dance a waltz. She raised her left arm awkwardly and placed it on his upper arm so lightly that Thornton had to look to assure himself that she had indeed assumed the correct position. The music began and Thornton stepped forward. Margaret's heart was beating so loudly in her ears that she could barely hear the music. She was a second late in stepping back, which caused that the original distance between their bodies to shrink considerably. Margaret was now determined to not miss the beats and focused all her energy to listening and moving, listening and moving and trying to go back to the original distance between the two, but she was not the lead and couldn't direct the steps and from the firm pressure on her back she knew that Mr Thornton was setting the pace and she will have to quietly follow.

"Miss Hale, will you please look at me?" Thornton said after a few minutes.

Margaret finally brought her eyes to his and received a grateful smile.

"Do you enjoy dancing?"

"Yes."

"It is not particularly apparent just now."

"I think you know why," Margaret said after a moment.

Thornton relaxed the pressure of his hand from her back and allowed her to set the pace. Margaret immediately noticed the change and took charge.

"I am sorry," Thornton said.

"For what?"

"Are there so many offenses then?"

He will be damned but he was not going to apologise for what happened outside the dining room. But he could see that she was still upset and he did not want to disturb her further. So he tried another safer line of conversation.

"Mr Hale seems to have made a new friend."

Margaret looked at where Mr Thornton was indicating. Her father was sitting down with Mrs Hampers and watching them dance.

"I fear he is not very well. He won't admit it."

"Perhaps, you can ask my mother for our doctor's address. As a precaution; it will ease your mind."

Margaret nodded. She wondered what became of Ann Latimer and who rescued her from Mrs Hampers. She didn't have to wonder long for she saw Ann dancing with Mr Watson. Neither looked happy. Mr Webster and Fanny, on the other hand, looked wonderfully in accord. They were talking and smiling at each other.

"I must thank you for what you told me about Fanny. I believe we are starting to understand each other a little better. I have a feeling that if I were to now 'forbid' her something, she might actually listen," Thornton said with a smile.

"Brothers are not only supposed to forbid."

"Yes, but we are talking about Fanny."

"You are again being unfair. She showed considerable restraint today. Unlike me."

"You always speak your mind. We may not always agree but as you said, it's good to consider a problem from both sides."

"The suffering of workers is not just an intellectual problem," she said stepping back a bit more.

"True, but it is not just a moral question either," Thornton quickly closed the gap.

"But you cannot be blind to the moral question," Margaret once again stepped back a good deal.

"No, but I cannot let it influence my decisions," Thornton swiftly turned her to the right, showing that while he may have given her control for the moment but he was still the lead.

"Yes, you do not run a charitable institution. You must operate the mill only on sound business principles," she bit out.

"I would be interested in seeing how you would handle the strike," Thornton said, realising that that was actually a rather interesting question.

Margaret pondered that for a minute. And Thornton took that occasion to study her face. He realised that he had never really had the opportunity to observe her face so closely whereas she had studied his rather well.

"I don't think my workers would ever be forced to strike," she said after giving the matter some thought.

"Please continue," Thornton said intrigued.

"I don't presume to understand how to run a mill. But in its essence it cannot be all that different from the running of a household," she looked at him to see his reaction. Thornton was listening in rapt attention, so she continued. "When we moved here, the keys to the upper rooms were missing and the cook's room was one of them. For nearly a week, she had to sleep on the kitchen floor and she was obviously not happy. She threatened to leave and we couldn't afford to let her go. So I came to the mill myself to collect the keys, even though, I knew that it was not right. Mr Webster tried to discourage me but he could only provide the keys later and it would be too late by then, the cook would have left. When she found out what I had done, she was quite grateful. She remembered it later when we had to… economise. She understood and did not complain or threaten to leave. She knows that I will do whatever is in my power to see to her comfort."

Thornton wondered if it was possible for him to love her even more. This was a woman with intelligence, kindness and beauty. Her solution was a charming one and it will no doubt work on disgruntled servants, but his workers?

"That's an interesting solution but I doubt the mill workers will be so understanding."

"But how can you say that without trying it."

"Very well, I promise I will try your suggestion one day," he said.

"Oh!" Margaret was so surprised that she stopped moving causing Thornton to crash into her. He immediately recovered and guided her back to the step. Nobody noticed it but that brief moment of full contact sent jolts of electricity through their bodies.

They danced the rest of the dance in silence—the heat and the tension from what had occurred outside the dining room and what had just happened now writhing between them. At the end of the dance, she curtsied again and he led her back.

"Good night, Miss Hale," Thornton bowed. He did not trust himself to say or do anything more.

He motioned to Andrew and as the two were making their way out of the room, Watson attempted to stop Thornton.

"The answer is no," Thornton said to Watson before Watson could even open his mouth.

With a final look at Margaret, Thornton went outside and stood in the calm night. He needed to collect himself, he needed his wits for tomorrow—tomorrow was going to be an important and decisive day.


End file.
